Damned If I Don't Get Back Up
by everyone'ssister
Summary: Tag to 11.15. The whole case brought up a lot of good and bad memories for Dean. Including the one where he got a chunk of his leg torn out. Needless to say Dean isn't feeling so hot. Going through the wall with his head hadn't been his choice though. Can Dean take anymore? He feels like he can't, he feels like he can't get back up.
1. Chapter 1

Tag to 11.15. The whole case brought up a lot of good and bad memories for Dean. Including the one where he got a chunk of his leg torn out. Needless to say Dean isn't feeling so hot. Going through the wall with his head hadn't been his choice though. Can Dean take anymore? He feels like he can't, he feels like he can't get back up.

A/N: Couldn't get the picture of Dean showing off his battle scars out of my mind, also all the feels from last week's episode...well I needed an outlet. And...hellatus! I'm dying.

DAMNED IF I DON'T GET BACK UP

Chapter 1.

The cold, messy night threw rain and wind at the impala as she bravely and smoothly (very important to Dean) speeds down the dark highway. The street lights seem to fly past them, they shine through the droplets of rain on the car's glass and paint the inside in colors. Thunder and lightening make a faraway, moody appearance on the horizon, the sound of which is barely discernible over the impala's 'hum'.

Inside the car the boys are comfortably cradled in her strong frame shielded from nature and the world. The only place where the Winchester boys feel they have a universe of their own; where they feel completely at home, in control, and safe. Sam sits on the passenger side watching miles after miles sweep past them. Dean sits behind the wheel, foot perhaps a little too heavy on the gas.

Sue him.

It's his drug, his way of coping. After a stressful hunt, physically or emotionally, the feeling of miles flying away beneath him gives a sense of comfort and control. Baby's hum sings to him of better and worse times. Both comforting saying, "It could be a lot worse," or, "When it gets better it'll be worth it."

He finds solace in the one entirely constant thing in his life. He takes care of her, she is faithful to him and Sammy. As he listens to her rumbling and eating up the asphalt and she sings soothing Metallica out to him he's not cloaked in the usual stress and general worry of his life. He has no reason to be worried about her, to be worried that she'll cut off on him. He's got Baby and Sammy and their heading home, Dean's head and heart should be as light and happy as it can be these days.

The darkness and the devil weigh heavy on his heart these days, the responsibility sometimes feeling as if it would literally crush him down to the ground. Hour after hour, and day after day looking for answers and finding none had done a number on him and he'd needed a break. A break down memory lane (one of his few good childhood memories) seemed like a good idea. It was just what he needed, and Sammy too. He just didn't know it.

Sam wasn't very much of a "pay your respects" kind of guy, especially if it was anything pertaining to John Winchester. But he'd agreed for Dean's sake and that was enough for the older Winchester. They'd had fun and Dean could literally feel the muscles relaxing, the world falling away a little as he was transformed back into the little boy he used to be. Excited and clueless of the dangerous, spiteful world out there.

Then it happened. Dean knew it was too good to be true. The body, the blood...the creepy ass symbols carved into dude's chest. It's with a heavy heart and even heavier feeling feet that he goes to question his childhood heroes. He swears if any if them were demons he'd just go ahead and find a gun and...he just really can't do this. Everything...EVERYTHING is so messed up.

He finds himself going through the motions, tracking down the killer, the crime scene, discovering who they need to save. And Dean thinks as they rush to save Harley that he really could have done without being that douche's saving grace. Then they bust through the doors and its Gunner standing over the boy's body. Gunner Lawless. Dean's Gunner Lawless. The man he had idolized.

Then the demon shows and Dean's got this heavy feeling in his gut like he knows what's going down. Gunner must have sold his soul or the demon had some hold over him. He's just so sick of the whole thing. It figures the only other man beside his father that he looked up to would sell his soul. Hell, this way Dean's demon deal was practically destiny.

But he believes, he has to believe that it's never too late to do the right thing. He has to believe he and Sam can fix the world. Has to believe that they will learn someday to give each other up instead of sacrificing the world. He hopes, he's not very sure. But he knows they have to keep trying to do the right thing.

Gunner Lawless gives up his life and dooms his soul to hell to finally do the right thing. And Dean finds it oddly comforting. Now as they speed towards home his heart and soul are wrapped in a warm haze of numbness, his body refusing to feel the pain and guilt of what's he's just gone through. Baby vibrates under and around him, he is looking for a way to do the right thing, he will find it.

He doesn't register the way his heart beat echoes loud in his brain, or the way the lights seem so bright. Doesn't feel the way his stomach rolls, or the burning pain in his shoulder. Is just taken up in the comforting knowledge that giving up your life to do the right thing is noble...is right. He finds Sam sitting beside hm, kind of noticing him for the first time. He finds comfort knowing he AND his brother will fight for what's right, will give up everything to do the right thing, finds comfort that Sam is, in fact, even stronger than Dean.

Sam is uneasy about how the whole hunt ended. Was uneasy about all of it from the beginning. He had wanted to be with Dean, he knew they deserved a break, but sitting in one place ALL week long bore especially hard on his stir crazy brother. He was actually surprised it had taken Dean as long as it had to break.

He, however, did not like the idea of going down memory lane and looking at his brother now behind the wheel of his beloved car he thinks he was probably right. Dean doesn't look so hot, listing a little towards his window, unconsciously squinting while looking out the windshield. He knows Dean got roughed up quit a bit on this hunt, and besides that he'd been the closest to plastered Sam had seen him in YEARS.

But he really, REALLY does not even want to know what this hunt did to his brother emotionally, and even mentally. Literally the reaction Dean is prone to have makes him grimace just thinking about it. Where were they headed? Silence for a few days, drinking binge, or kind of angry and violence hungry...Dean had many ways of coping. And Sam had to learn to cope with them.

He would really like to avoid the silence one and the drinking one...like a lot. The violence and the anger he can take. That's even a little expected, even Sam finds a nice bloody, hands on job is good for the soul after a trying hunt. He keeps giving his brother glances, not still entirely sure of the extent of his injuries. He's going to guess minor concussion, maybe just a head ache, to be slept off, and his brother seems to favoring that left shoulder. It's the stubborn one, always wants out of its socket.

Sam winces thinking back to the sound of the wall shattering under his brother's weight, it was his head and shoulder that had impacted first. Yeah, concussion and bad shoulder sounded pretty close to Sam. Knowing how little sleep they both had been getting makes Sam uneasy and worried to have Dean at the wheel or injured, his body isn't ready to cope with any kind of injury.

He needs to get Dean in the passenger seat, get some food in him and get him some meds so he'll sleep all the way home. And hopefully sleep away the melancholy Sam can see dancing it's way over his brother's features. First off he guesses he should take care of the silence possibility.

"Dean?"

He's rewarded with an answering grunt, not really very encouraging.

"You good?"

Another grunt, yes or no, Sam's not sure. But the silence is starting to look more probable and Sam REALLY does not want that to happen, like really not. The last time Dean had coped that way Sam had nearly lost what little mind he had left. They'd both dropped like ten pounds, and had spent their days staring at each other across the library tables with dark bags growing under their eyes.

Yeah Sam was really not interested in that, best way to get a reaction out of Dean Winchester. Make him mad or use Sammy Winchester, practically the same thing. But when Sam Winchester decided to use Sammy Winchester it was an entirely different matter.

"I'm hungry," Sam simply states, pulling out his phone and using the "around me" app to try and find somewhere they could stop the car and look at Dean's shoulder and gets some meds in him. Dean gives him a response for that, a look that obviously says, "Hungry? Your hungry? I'm not, but whatever you want Sammy."

Sam smiles softly knowing he's got a victory already.

"What do you feel like?" He asks, scrolling down to finish viewing their nearest options.

Dean shrugs, "Not really hungry."

Sam wants to pump his fist in the air. Yes! No silence.

Dean must see the exit ahead because he slows and looks behind him before pressing the gas again and turning off of the highway to drive towards the nearest town. Sam tries to find somewhere that would have something to tempt Dean but is all out of luck. Most of these places listed would probably be closed by now.

Looks like Waffle House for them. Sam doesn't even want to think about how many Waffle Houses he's been too in his life. Of all the gallons of their disgusting brew of coffee he's consumed. But he does have to say in the middle of the night in a fix their waffles can hit the spot.

"There's a Waffle House down that way," Sam tells his brother as they turn into the Main Street of the sleeping town, where most all the shops and restaurants are dark. "Looks like it's probably the only thing open."

"Story of my life," Dean mumbles. But he's already pointing them towards it, the empty streets making way for Dean to speed a little. Sam chuckles a little at his brother's chagrined face, and he's rewarded with a tired, but fond smile. He returns it, heart lifting a little.

Dean sighs heavily as Sam exits the car as soon as they park. He follows groaning under his breath. Some coffee does sound great, even if it is nasty and probably burnt from sitting on the burner. He follows his brother who looks behind him and holds the door with a backward stretched arm waiting for him.

Dean lets the door shut behind them, and hands Sam his wallet going to sit down. Sam frowns at him like he's saying, "I can pay for myself, jerk." And follows him over to the table.

"What do you want?" Sam asks, standing beside him where he's already fallen into a seat at a window booth.

Dean shrugs, wincing as he moves his shoulder, "Coffee definitely, dunno not really hungry."

"I'm getting you something," Sam mumbles as he makes his way to the counter.

The lights are down in the restaurant and easier on Dean's eyes, he'd die before he admitted the country radio playing in the back ground soothed him. He runs calloused hands down his stubbly cheeks and let's out a deep breath.

A steaming styrofoam cup of coffee is placed under his nose by one grinning brother who proudly announces its fresh. He sniffs it, letting the warm smell travel up through his nose and clears his head a little. God, it smells and feels so good. He pulls it towards himself further and hunches over it a bit breathing it in. Sam chuckles sitting across from him, stirring sugar and creamer to his cup.

"Dude, it's not weed."

"Ahhh," Dean sighs, "Feels like it. Feels like I could get off just smelling it."

"Woah," Sam outright laughs, "TMI."

Dean chuckles too, giving his brother an eyebrows raised look. "It could be really hot, I could..."

"No, no, no," Sam stops him, "Please no, just drink."

Dean snickers a little, finally taking a sip and feeling like he could pass out from bliss. He groans in ecstasy and takes another sip closing his eyes. He opens them only to find Sam retreating, his own coffee in hand, moving to another table.

"Hey, where you going?" He asks, momentarily, honestly confused.

"Giving you two some time on your own."

Dean rolls his eyes and motions for Sam to join him again. As he does his eyes still reflect his laugh, smile still haunting his lips, and Dean laughs a little too.

"I'm a little scared to see you with the waffles."

Dean gives him a face like 'you know it' and then looks around smiling mischievously, "At least no else is in here."

Sam rolls his eyes, just as the cashier lets him know their food is ready, "Your incorrigible." He says over his shoulder going to get it. Leaving Dean looking smug.

Sam brings back their food on a tray and places a steaming stack of three waffles on a plate, with butter melting over them in front of his brother. Dean looks at it a little hesitantly before the steam floats to his nose where he smells it in, nearly melting into a puddle right there. Seems Sam knows what he wants even better than himself. He imagines he'll feel miles better after he's eaten.

So without further ado, he drowns the waffles in syrup and digs in.

Across from him Sam is feeling very proud of himself even as he squirts whipped cream over his own waffles and drizzling strawberries on top. He follows Dean's example and digs in.

"So, you good?" He asks, around his first bite of waffle.

Dean cocks an eyes brow at him and swallows about his fifth bite, Sam has no idea how he even eats that fast. "I'm good."

"Your shoulder? That's the bad one right?" Sam points out, swallowing some warm coffee after the waffles, the bitter brew complimenting the sweetness.

Dean nods, taking another bite of waffles and gulping down about half of his coffee. "It's fine."

"Not dislocated?"

Dean shakes his head, "Nah, just wrenched it a little."

"How about your head?" Sam questions, knowing he's cutting it a little close.

"I went through a wall, how do you think, Sam?" Dean asks, eyes glittering a little in annoyance.

Okay, cutting it a lot too close, Sam thinks. He holds up his hands apologetically, and goes back to his waffles. "Just making sure you're okay." He mumbles, looking out the window instead of at his big brother.

He can feel Dean relent a little across the table and knows he's using the Sammy Winchester card a little dirtily. He drinks down his coffee, watching Dean from under the hair that's fallen into his eyes.

His brother looks oddly relaxed for the stress they've just gone through. He notices how everything about him seems to be loose. His pupils are a little wide and then wildly small when the light shifts, so maybe a little more of a concussion that he thought. He's followed Sam's gaze out the window and is staring at the impala, reflecting the lights, otherwise she's nearly undetectable in the night.

This is a rare happening that Sam forces himself to appreciate. It may be caused by an injury but. Sometimes when Dean got a hit on the head it would kind of detach him, numb him from the world and reality of what was really happening. Sam can't think of a better time for a concussion to impact Dean like this. He can't imagine the severe fall back from this hunt that he knows was just way too close to his brother. It seems somewhere out there something or someone is still on their side, still fighting for their odds. Even if it's as simple as Dean getting knocked a little silly instead of having to painfully deal with cold reality.

Across from him Dean hums around his waffles contentedly and gives Sam a sincere smile. "This was a good idea, Sammy." He says, mouth open and giving Sam a fine view of his half chewed food.

Sam frowns but smiles afterwards, "I know, knew you were hungry too."

Dean rolls his eyes, whatever, let Sammy think he scored one. He can't really bring himself to care. He's starting to feel pleasantly warm and sleepy now that he's eaten. He sits back, away from his empty plate and waits for Sam to finish.

"You remember that one time," he muses, gazing out the window, "After that hunt and dad..."

"...took us to a Waffle House and bought us coffee and waffles? Yeah." Sam smiles over at his brother. "I remember, first time he got me my own cup of coffee."

Dean snorts a laugh, "You were so hyper, dad was like caffeine Nazi."

"Was not," Sam grunts, taking another bite chasing it down with more coffee. "But seriously, you drank coffee for years earlier than me...so unfair."

Dead laughs, "Dad knew I needed it, cause I had to look after your wild ass."

Sam rolls his eyes and sighs, knowing arguing was fruitless, "What did I do all those years without caffeine, how did I live?"

Dean shakes his head, "You were one wild kid, seriously. I don't know where you got all that energy from. You can still go the longest out both of us."

Sam nearly chokes, "Did you just admit to getting old?"

"Old?" Dean chuckles, "I'd say that was stretching it. God, it takes you a long time to eat, hurry it up, we need to get on the road."

"I'm going, I'm going," Sam mumbles around the last bite he hastily shovels in.

Dean takes both their cups and fills them with fresh coffee. Sam sees the way he sways a little, turn a little pale. Oh yeah, he's totally getting drugged up. After Sam puts their trays and dishes on top of the trash can and uses the bathroom, he joins Dean outside where his brother is holding their coffees. He motions for the keys and Dean gives him a suspicious look.

"I gotta get something out of the trunk," he says truthfully.

Dean joins him and stand over his shoulder, sipping the hot, black coffee. Sam ruffles through their first aide kit until he finds the meds his looking for, basic ibuprofen, some painkillers and a strong Benadryl. Dean watches him confused.

"You okay, Sam?" He asks, trying to catch a look at Sam's face.

"I'm fine Dean," he says smiling, "These," he takes his cup of coffee from Dean and places the pills in his empty hand, "Are for you."

Sam watches a moody shadow pass over his brother's face. "Sam, I'm fi..."

"You are not fine, Dean." Sam says, taking him by the elbow of his jacket and pulling him towards the passenger seat. "Just take the pills and rest, I'll drive it's no big deal."

Thunder sounds closer, lightening lights up Dean's profile, showing off his sharp, features.

"But I don't feel an..."

Sam cuts him off, "You have a concussion Dean," Dean opens his mouth to objet, "You do." He says firmly. "Now we can fight about this and I win, or you can just get in and sleep and we're agreed."

Dean sighs, but gets in sipping his coffee and Sam shuts the door, making his way to the driver's side. He smiles over at Dean when he's seated and cranks the car. Dean gives him an ugly glare as he swallows the pills in one go and the impala purrs to life. Sam makes sure Metallica stays on, it's ridiculous how much that music really does calm his brother.

They high tail it out of that town, and are soon driving down dark back roads, where there's no light but the occasional security light in front of a lonely house. Dean scoots down until his head rests on the back of the seat, he crosses his arms to make it more comfortable and leans over towards the window for more support.

Sam thinks he's fallen to sleep when he suddenly shifts and scratches his leg restlessly through the jeans. Dean huffs and sits a little and pulls the leg of his pants up until he can get to the skin. Then he scratches sighing with relief.

"Dean?" Sam questions, wondering if this is just some kind of concussion dream. "What are you doing, you alright?"

Dean yawns, "I'm fine, just you remember that leg wound from a while back, got infected real bad?"

Sam nods, "Yeah, it was that werewolf up in the mountains, right?"

"Yeah," Dean sighs sleepily, settling again after one last scratch, "Still itches sometimes."

Sam smiles as Dean smacks his lips and leans his head against the window he's cushioned with Sam's coat. He hears the moment Dean's breath evens out and he finally succumbs to sleep. Sleep it off, he thinks fondly. He hopes the reality check when Dean wakes up won't be too bad.

Sam makes himself more comfortable and leaves a casual hand on wheel as the other taps to the beat on his thigh. He finishes his coffee and starts in on Dean's even though it's black. Things have been hard for them lately, sleep shallow and monster-filled, work long and fruitless. Even as he hopes Dean's sleep is peaceful his brother snuffles and groans a little in his sleep. Sam watches grimaces wash over Dean's face, sees the waves of tension sweep through him, the way his eyes movie restlessly under their lids.

He wonders what kind of new horrors or old night terrors haunt his brother's dreams tonight.

...

Dean just really wants to finish this. He's beyond frustrated. He could rip out this werewolf's heart...with. His. Hands. He grits his teeth watching Sam a few yards away from him, back pressed up against a tree just like him. Both breathing hard and trying to locate the wolf with their hearing. Guns loaded with silver bullets grasped tightly in their hands, silver knives tucked safely in their boots or belt.

Sam's cheeks are red with the cold and adrenaline and the brother's can't help but share a cold smile of pure exhilaration over the hunt. Even if it is turning out to be a bitch. Dean's feet are freezing buried in the snow drift against the tree trunk, but he stays still trying to minimize the white clouds of breath he's producing. Sam motions to him quickly, and then Dean can hear the nearly silent foot falls very close to them. He can hear the soft growls that escape the wolf's mouth with each breath. They've already planted one silver bullet in the things left leg, it doesn't have much longer.

Sam nods to Dean's question asked only with the raising of both eye brows. They both silently cock their pistols and they come up in readiness to rest beside their ears. Dean holds out a hand...wait for it. Sam holds his eyes waiting for his big brother's word. Dean breathes deep, waits for the next telling foot step, hears the growling under the breath of the werewolf...

But he doesn't expect to feel the warmth of that breath on his neck.

Even as Sam reaches out a hand and screams a warning, he feels a strong, clawed hand, latch onto his shoulder and brutally shove his head into the tree trunk and then into the snow covered ground in a blink of eye.

When his head and the tree make contact Dean loses sight for a millisecond and comes to with ringing in his ears. The snow is white all around him and he rolls lightening fast to try and gain footing and stand. But the wolf grabs him by the collar of his jacket, pressing him into the cold snow and opens its jaws to tear into his throat. Dean grabs fruitlessly at its arms holding him down, it's going in for the kill.

Sam barrels past him, tackling the wolf, but is met by a wall of pure muscle. He unsuccessfully tries to push the wolf of his stunned brother. Dean knees the creature right in the balls, smiling smugly at the roar of pain. Sam grunts as he gets a firm punch right in the mouth, but he doesn't relinquish his hold on the creature. He pushes with all his might and rolls with the wolf off Dean.

Dean sobs in a much needed breath and gasps trying to gather himself, he spots Sam's gun lying in the snow just out of reach. He throws himself towards it and nearly passes out from the vertigo that spins the world around him. Just as his fingers brush the gun handle he fills a hand wrap around his ankle. With one jerk the wolf drags Dean well away from the gun, he pulls Dean to him using his hands even as Sam stabs his silver knife deep into his belly, jerking it out to repeat the motion in his heart.

The werewolf roars in pain, and Dean kicks it in the face. With the last of its breath it digs three claws of its left hand into the meaty flesh of Dean's calf. Screaming and jerking back as Sam buries the blade in its heart. The movement ripping flesh and muscle from Dean's leg, painting the werewolf's claws and hand in red.

Dean hears a blood-curdling scream, that he doesn't realize was his own until a few moments later. His breaths are coming fast and rapid. The pain burning through his body forcing tears from his eyes and causing his body to feel like it's going to crawl out of his skin. He gags a few times managing to keep his food down.

Sam is above him in a moment, hand squeezing his strongly, speaking to him calmly with a worried tremor in his voice. Dean can't really understand what he's saying. There's still a ringing in his ears, the world is still spinning a little. All he remembers is Sam pulling him up and popping him against himself. From there he remembers vaguely seeing the leg of his jeans ripped and blood gushing out. The snow crimson with it, oddly beautiful.

tbc...

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thank you


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2.

Dean's Dream:

Shortly before the discovery of the bunker.

Dean's scream reaches Sam's ears where he kneels, knife buried in the werewolf's stomach. The agony in the rough sob following his brother's scream rips Sam's heart to pieces. Angry vengeance has him burying the knife so deep in the wolf's heart that the hilt breaks the skin. The light and life fades from the eyes of their enemy and it goes completely still.

Sam skids to a stop on his knees beside Dean, hand seeking his out and squeezing it tightly. Dean's frantic hold on Sam's hand clues him into just how bad the pain must be. His free hand gently pulls the ripped jean from Dean's skin trying to find the source of the bloody waterfall. He feels the tremors wracking through Dean by the link of their hands. He remembers the pretty ugly sounding hit on the head his brother took, and takes in the amount of blood soaking the snow like a cherry icy.

Out in the cold his brother is very susceptible to shock. Sam knows he needs to get them back to the little rundown cabin that he and Dean had set up camp in for this hunt. All things considered, he isn't prepared for this kind of injury in this kind of weather. It was one werewolf, he and Dean had counted on taking it down and heading out immediately. That had been amateur thinking.

He takes the flannel scarf he has on from around his neck and securely ties it around the wound causing Dean to moan and toss his head to the side where it's resting on Sam's thigh.

"Shhh," he comforts, a hand landing comfortingly for a moment on Dean's heaving chest. "It's okay Dean, I gotcha'." Dean answers him by grunting deep in his throat. Eyes fluttering between open and closed, face scary white. Sam doesn't like it one bit. He feels that excited trembling come to his body caused by the adrenaline. It's unusual behavior for Dean, even severely hurt.

He figure the hit on the head is probably making it worse. He looks for blood on his brother's scalp, running fingers through the soft spikes of dark hair and sighs when his fingers come away smeared with some of the bright liquid. Not much, not an alarming amount, not like his leg. Sam shudders a little looking back to Dean's left leg where it lay limp on the blood soaked snow.

"S'm," Dean mumbles through blue looking lips, "S'mmy?"

"Yeah?" Sam asks, a little distracted by looking down into his brother's white face. His pupils are wide, eyes unfocused on his face, moving around a little absently. Sam sighs, knowing he's definitely dealing with a concussion too. His brother lifts shaking hands to grab at his jacket as if to gain his attention.

"What is it, Dean?" He asks, a hand coming to gently cup the back of his head where he'd found the bloody lump.

"Gotta burn the body," he slurs out.

"What?" Sam asks, his feathers more that a little ruffled. "Your bleeding. Like a lot Dean, and you want me to burn the body?"

Dean lets out a tired sounding chuckle that results in a throaty cough that shifts him, bringing out another telling moan. "I'll be fine, S'mmy, gotta finish the job, do it right."

Sam's seen this before. It's like Dean's default setting for when he's hurt too bad and in too much pain to be 100% present. He distances himself from the pain, the world, reality. Sam's knows sometimes that's the only way to deal, sometimes to be stuck with the real stuff is just too much when your body is betraying you.

"Okay, okay," he says breathlessly, leaning over Dean, whose head still lays in his lap. He opens up their bag which he dropped beside them and grabs the salt and lighter fluid. Without moving him or Dean he tosses the white mineral all over the corpse and then saturates it with lighter fluid.

Dean tries to hold back the groan welling up in his throat as Sam drags him away from the wolf's body. Sam lights up a pack of matches as tosses them over the corpse. The flames whoosh to life and the flames dance in Dean's slightly glazed over eyes. His quick gasped breaths aren't lost on Sam, his heart is filled with foreboding at Dean's reaction to the wound and the head injury.

He's had worse then this, Sam tells himself. He'll be fine, we'll be out of here in a few hours and I can look after him good once we find a warm motel room to get comfortable in so Dean can prop that leg up. He smiles encouragingly at his brother who is looking up at him with big eyes, breaths escaping his mouth, rasping through his chest and into the cold air. Sam sighs, thinking, why did Dean already have to have a cold? Why was life is unfair to his big brother, why did it just seemed to get its kicks from sending Dean hard knocks?

That being said, Sam pulls his brother to a sitting position and leans him against his chest. They had to get up and get going if they were going to make the cabin by nightfall. Dean openly groans, grinding the back of his head against Sam's collarbone, hissing at the pain from the sensitive bump back there.

Sam soothes him with a hand on his chest rubbing to ground him. His fingers dance over the scarf bandage, making sure it's secure. Dean still isn't saying much, not objecting to the manhandling or the fact that Sam is holding him and whispering to him.

"You with me?" Sam asks his silent brother, trying to look into his face over his shoulder. "Stay with me Dean, gotta get back to the cabin."

"Let's get up," he offers next when Dean gives him no answer. "Up we go." He says, grunting as he stands, pulling Dean up from under his arm pits.

Dean gasps at being suddenly vertical, and looks sicker if that was possible. His hand fists in Sam's coat and he stands heavily on his right foot. Keeping weight entirely off the mangled one. The agony screaming through it with just these slight movements makes him want to pass out to escape it. But Sam is there and sounding scared, he figures he should stick around. It's probably somehow entirely unfair to make Sam carry his unconscious ass through the snow.

"Give a man some warning," he grumbles, in a voice more hoarse with pain than he intended. He has no idea how the hell he's supposed to walk at all, let alone through the snow and all the way back to the cabin.

Sam is relieved to hear his brother's voice to say the least. He keeps a firm grip on him since he looks like a good, hard gust of wind would blow him over. His skin nearly matches the snow, and he's scared by the way his brother gets a faraway look in his eyes when he stood straight. He's also alarmed by the amount of blood still seeping from under the scarf bandage especially now that his brother is vertical, sending blood rushing back to his legs and feet again.

"Okay," Sam says, "We need to get back to the cabin." He looks up at the sky and then around, "We don't have all that much daylight left, we need to shag ass."

Dean commands himself to move. Tells his mind to tell his legs to put one after the other. But, oh the pain he knows is awaiting him as soon as he lifts and plants his weight on that mauled leg. He can feel the warm slick of blood dripping down his leg and into his boot where it squelches when he moves his foot. Just the slightest curling of his toes wrap him in agony.

Head bowed staring at the bloody state of his jeans the reality of what's happened really crashes down on him. The wolf had ripped flesh and muscle, could have permanently damaged his leg. He knew what was too much blood loss. Knew what it felt like, knew what it looked like poured out on the ground, sopped into the dirt or the snow, he was practiced in this.

He'd lost a lot of blood, maybe not too much yet, but by the time he got to the cabin it would be. And the more strain he put on it the more blood he would lose. The more blood he would lose the harder it would be for him to stay awake and then he would leave Sammy on his on. He would be liability and slow Sam down in the cold.

Realizing what had in fact happened to him and the thoughts of putting Sam in danger wraps his heart in panic. It constricts even more painfully. Sam behind him, gives him time, holding onto his arms to keep him steady. Dean looks up into the sky to breathe in big breaths of clear, cold air. Snow flakes are floating down to them, Dean can see them casually falling through the bare tree branches and to his face, where they add to the numbness there caused by the cold.

Dean's breaths come out bigger but faster, Sam watches his chest heave worriedly. He pulls Dean to him and rubs his chest firmly. Knows the shock and blood and cold is getting to him. Knows the freezing air he's gulping in too fast is burning his lungs.

"Slow down," he whispers, "Just slow it down." He catches Dean's eyes, wild and sparkling. Fear glinting out to him, the more violent shaking of his brother's hands making more sense to him. "We don't have go anywhere right now," he soothes. "When you're ready, okay?"

"I'm not a freaking baby," Dean gasps out, a hand coming up to grip the wrist of the hand Sam has on his chest.

Sam laughs deep in his chest and Dean feels it rumble through his back and it warms him a little. He lets himself melt further into Sam, his strength and warmth, and breathes some more, waiting for the burn to subside so he can get some air in earnest. Head falling back to lean on his little brother's shoulder he gulps in some more clear mountain air, ignoring the white snow flakes falling catching on his eyelashes and top lip.

"No you're not," Sam comforts, hand rubbing again on his chest. "But you're hurt, Dean." He pauses seemingly waiting for Dean's denial that doesn't come. "We can do this on your time, big brother, I've gotcha."

Dean heaves a sigh and thinks how he could just stay here forever, never have to move that damned leg and just melt into Sammy's heat and strength until there was nothing left but that. But the cold gust of wind that sweeps around them reminds him of their circumstances, the snow falling thickly now and the light quickly fading on them. Just his luck. He knows they have to move, he has to move. If only so Sam isn't stuck out here in the cold and dark because of him.

Behind his usually bigger than life brother, Sam Winchester is scared. This is unlike anything he's ever experienced, unlike anything he and Dean have ever been through together. Usually Dean is loud and obnoxious to cover pain and assuage Sam's fear. Even when it was a severe wound. Laughing at his worry, scoffing at the blood, hurling verbal abuses on their foe.

(Sam can still remember kneeling by his brother, Dean's arm broken in several places, but blood was pouring from the place where bone had pierced through the skin and was shining pale white through the glistening red. Dean had smiled at him and told him to quit being such a girl because he was crying over Dean's white face and mutilated arm.)

He wraps his arms firmer around his brother and begins to slowly rock their weight to the left, to tease Dean's leg and get him used to the uncomfortable pressure. Dean hisses, and his fingers dig into Sam's wrist that he still holds tightly. His breaths gasp loudly in Sam's ear, he can feel the hot, quick puffs of air hitting his neck and cheek.

"We gotta go, Dean." He says softly. He's pretty sure Dean isn't aware of the whimper that escapes his throat and breaks Sam's heart to pieces. "I know it hurts, but there's no help for it."

"No shit S'mmy," Dean hisses unclearly at him as Sam leans more his weight to the left. "Oh god..." He moans, "...Just stan' still, please." He nearly begs.

Sam immediately stills, his heart beating wild in his chest, the fear nearly breaking it apart. Dean never acknowledged pain, never asked for anything nicely, and never, ever begged. He was doing all three, Sam can hear the desperation and tears in his voice. Can nearly hear the pain coursing through his brother's veins with the trembling of his body in his arms.

Dean steels himself, knowing he has to move. Can hear the fear in Sam's voice, can feel the wild beating of his heart behind him. Not to mention the big brother radar is going bonkers, though he guesses that massive hit to the head could have knocked things askew up there. So with teeth grinding and hands fisted, nails driving into his palms, Dean takes his first step out of Sam's supporting embrace.

The right one first and then the left, and then the right.

Sam is unprepared for Dean's movements, he blinks in surprise. He thanks his hunter instincts for interfering before his mind even registers his brother's stiff movements. His arms are back around Dean's chest and holding him up as he starts to go down on the third step. Although his brother has always been extremely stubborn and has a frankly alarmingly high pain threshold, he wasn't expecting that show of strength.

At the same time he's freaking out that Dean didn't make it any farther, and that he's bearing all the weight of his body in his arms. He finds himself leaning Dean so his head rolls back onto his chest where he can see his wide blown eyes and whiter than death face.

"SONUVABITCH!" Dean gasps. But it comes out through clenched teeth in a whispering moan slurred like, "Sonuvabish."

His body goes limp all the strength sapped from his bones and muscles. He wonders why with this one injury he seems unable to lose consciousness. The pain coursing though his entire body...it makes is head spin, fills his vision with red clouds, shoots through his brain with every loud, obnoxious beat if his heart. Falling limply towards the snow he can already see three bright stars in the dark, grayish snow clouds...its beautiful, he thinks detachedly.

Then suddenly something wraps around him and is fighting against the comfortable pull of gravity and jerks him up to stand, leaning against warmth again. Sam. The strangled humph that escapes him at his abruptly halted descent takes all the breath from his lungs, as his head falls against Sam's hard chest bone AGAIN his eyes water and he searches for his brother's face frantically.

Sam is beginning to realize they're in somewhat of a pickle. This was no flesh wound, and no random hit on the head. Dean's body was reacting severely, so severely he had no control over it. He hadn't been able to form a full sentence since it occurred or breathe steadily. Sam hated it when Dean's eyes took on that far away, not quite present, glazed expression, but his eyes hadn't cleared once, not even with the, obviously, mind numbing pain.

"Dean?" He asks, lips moving against his brother's hair. "You with me, big brother?"

Don't ask him why when Dean was hurt he always broke out that soft, questioning voice with a gentle pleading of 'big brother' maybe it was spur Dean on, wake up that nearly invincible being that seemed to be able to go on and on for his little brother. Sam should feel bad taking advantage of the bond, but all he can manage to be is proud.

A soft grunt floats back to him from Dean's parted lips, where breaths are gasping in and out. Sam is frantically searching for another way to get Dean back to the cabin without the torture of walking on his leg, but is drawing a blank other than throwing him up into a fireman's carry. He knows Dean might not even notice, knows the pain is driving him deep into his subconscious. (The way that Dean barely answers him, jumps when he speaks or suddenly shifts his hold on him like he forgot he was there.)

He'd do it a heart beat, but Dean Winchester? Sam would rather not get his head or ass beat in. So he hangs tight and waits for Dean to catch his breath. "You ready?" He almost whispers, and Dean nods.

Sam lifts Dean's left arm and wraps it around his own neck, hanging on to his forearm with his left hand on the other side of his head. He wraps his right arm around Dean's waist and pulls him flush against him, taking as much weight as he can. They go step by step, Dean's breaths rasping in Sam's ear, both sweating buckets even though Dean still shakes against Sam.

Both the boys try not to think of the pain shooting up Dean's leg and crippling most of his brain. Sam watches his brother carefully for signs of faintness or nausea, as Dean sometimes reacts to severe pain with throwing up. His heart is keeping up its frantic beating even as Dean's eyelids lower over his eyes until he's barely peering out. He's letting Sam lead more than he's paying attention to where they're going. Sam knows their time is running out, Dean's time is running out.

The full moon is peering mockingly at them through the snow clouds, stars winking around the grey tendrils. The wind makes a cruel dance around them, slipping into their clothes leaving trails of goosebumps. The snow flakes are coming down thickly, the wind creating obscuring flurries that Sam squints through the see the way. Dean makes no complaint, follows Sam silently. Sam thinks among all his other conflicting thoughts, their freaking luck sucks.

Pretty soon every step on his left leg is driving grunts of pain from Dean's lips that are shut tight in a grim line. Drops of sweat shine on his white face, his fingers dig into Sam's shoulder. His other hand grasps Sam's hand around his waist. Sam grinds his teeth with effort when Dean's left foot starts dragging behind.

Dean stumbles and cries out in agony, Sam pauses, breathing deep, watching as blood drips from his makeshift bandage and stains the white snow. His pants are just off time with Dean's filling the darkening night with the sound of heavy breathing. Sam takes a step forward but is, drug down to one knee as Dean goes down.

His brother falls to his knees in the snow, his free hand going out to clumsily catch himself, only for his arm to give out, so he leans on his elbow, face nearly in the snow. It only adds to the chill and numbness covering his senses. Breathing in the frigid air he feels the snow and wetness seeping into his jeans and the scarf and to the open wounds. It burns. Dean thinks nothing could ever numb the pain he feels at the moment, but the cold is definitely muffling the screaming of his nerves.

He tries to tell Sam, tell him no more. Can't go anymore, can't take that burning fire enveloping every nerve in his body, can't take the feeling of blood running down his leg with every faulting step. Can't, really, really can't move again, please...just let him be still, just let him be in peace, let him sleep. Let the pain go, let the darkness, the ignorance take him.

Please Sam.

"We're almost there, Dean," Sam says in the real world. He smiles shakily into his brother's sweaty white face, his brother's eyes sweep back and forth restlessly under heavy lids that are coasting open and closed and Sam can tell soon, they won't open again.

"You stay with me Dean," he says, voice shaking. "We're almost there, I ain't carrying your ass."

He laughs nervously and tugs Dean up on his knees holding his arm around his neck. Dean moans weakly and his forehead falls against the side of his neck, lips moving silently against his coat. Sam leans down further to listen.

"What's that Dean?" He asks gently. "Can it wait big brother? We're almost there...get you warm and something for the pain, you'll feel better..."

"S'm," his brother is mumbling, seemingly unaware that Sam is even talking. "Can't, s'rry, S'mmy, can't...can't."

Sam grips his brother by the side of the face, his thumb sliding under Dean's jaw to pull his face up to look at him. "No Dean...Dean you stay with me, you hear? We're almost there, no passing out allowed."

The words aren't yet out of his mouth as Dean's weight falls against him, his head limp in Sam's hands, willingly being guided to rest on his chest, his arm going lapse around his neck, the other falling helpless in the snow. Sam freezes, Dean doesn't pass out. He's going to be alright, we're going to be alright, he thinks calmly. Instead his hands press frantically to Dean's neck to find his pulse. Fast, thready, too much blood loss, Sam decides.

His brother is shaking in his arms, lips turning blue. Shock and cold taking over, and now Dean's out Sam has no say, has no way of calling his brother back to him, demanding he stay with him, demanding he be strong enough. Now Sam has to be strong enough, now he has to get Dean back, get him warm, help him. He can do that.

"You bastard." Sam growls to him.

He shifts Dean slowly upwards, onto his shoulders. He is as gentle as he can be, wincing when Dean moans without waking up. Legs and feet now pressed to the front of his body, Sam hangs on to one of Dean's thighs to keep him on his shoulders, the other goes to pulls him close by his other leg, arranging him more comfortably.

His entire palm comes away red and wet, nearly to the point of dripping. He wipes Dean's blood from his skin on his pant leg. He watches in sick fascination as blood drip drops from the tip of Dean's boot and down to the snow.

More than enough blood, he thinks anxiously.

tbc...

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thank you


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3.

The snow glows in the darkness, making travel a little easier for Sam who is stumbling under Dean's weight through the loose powder. A consistent snow fall is adding to the two feet already present, it's blurring the air into a swimming mess of white, Sam is scrunching his face up with a squint trying to see. The temperature is dropping, Sam can nearly feel it. Or at least his nose can, the tip is cold to the hurting point, except until about now when it's numb. He's aware of the way the snow under him is getting firmer, freezing.

They're going to be stuck at the cabin if this keeps up all night.

Dean on his shoulders behind him, is silent. Doesn't move, makes no sound, not even a soft moan. Sam doesn't feel even a wince, though he occasionally sights blood dripping from his left boot. He doesn't want to think about how much he's missed falling. Sam's body is overheating, sweat dripping down his face and neck, exposed skin getting wind chapped, snow flakes landing against it melt away immediately.

When the dark silhouette of the cabin comes into view Sam sighs deep with relief and shifts Dean on his shoulders.

"Really puts distance in perspective when you're hauling a full grown man on your back," he mumbles. He hears Dean's breath catch, a soft exhale accompanied with low moan.

"Hold up Dean," he says, starting towards the small house, "We're almost there, gonna getcha' set up in minute."

Dean gives him no response. But then he is hanging upside down, passed out over Sam's back, so Sam pats him reassuringly where his hand grips his thigh and begins the last leg of the journey to the cabin. As always with the object of all his work in sight it seems harder. Sam pants his way up the small hill the cabin is built on and breathes raggedly as he leans against the door jam and fishes the keys out of Dean's jacket pocket. Which, by the way, he should get a medal for. That was hard shit.

He unlocks the door and stumbles into the dark, bare room. Swinging the door shut behind him, he slowly goes to his knees beside the cold fireplace and slowly lowers Dean from his shoulders. He lets his brother rest against his chest as he grabs one of their sleeping bags, he's honestly not sure whose and both old, dirty pillows. He thinks randomly they really need to get new ones.

He manages to unroll the sleeping bag one handed and spread it out. As gently as he can he shifts Dean onto it, watching grimaces chase themselves over his brother's face. He places the pillows under Dean's head and straightens his crooked limbs, being SO careful with his left leg.

Rising from beside him, Sam gathers a handful of wood from the pile stacked beside the fireplace and stacks it inside the hearth. Grabbing a piece of notebook paper from among his research which is by the fire from their going over it the night before. He uses it for kindling and nurses the flames into a warm fire. That done he pushes Dean and the sleeping bag closer to the warmth and spreads one of their extra blankets over him.

Opening the door he takes the keys from the lock feeling a little foolish for leaving them there. He shuts the door behind him, heading for the impala. Outside the world has changed into one of swirling white. Sam thanks any entity that may be listening that it seems they got back to the cabin just in time. He fights his way through the angry wind and snow towards the impala that is covered in a layer of snow.

Wouldn't Dean be thrilled.

Sam uses his arms to guard his face against the blistering wind and cold. He unlocks the trunk and quickly grabs their first aide kit, which is in the favorite green weapons bag, and stuffs some water bottles and snacks into it too. He grabs their radio, hoping to jump onto a wave and hear something helpful about the weather. Getting a hurt Dean down the mountain was nearly out of the question. Not to mention the impala wasn't exactly an all terrain car. Sure Dean could make her do just about anything, but Sam was not his brother. Nor did he have such blind faith in a machine. Just in Dean.

Making sure to lock his brother's "baby" back up, Sam heads back inside, shaking the snow from his hair as he closes the door behind him. Going over to the crude table and two chairs sitting in the middle of the room he sets down the duffle and drags out the first aide kit and water. The water bottles are frozen solid, so he sits them close to the fire to thaw out. Next he quickly lays out the contents of the first aide kit, wanting to be prepared for nearly everything.

Dean has turned his head towards the warmth of the fire, the orange flames reflecting off his sweat slick face. Sam runs fingers through his hair, getting the wetness from melted snow on his hands. Gingerly as he can he dries his brother's hair and turns his head to face the fireplace all the way so his right cheek rests against the pillow.

He cleans the blood from Dean's hair and scalp as best he can, using their flashlight to light his work since the light from the fire is hardly enough. Dean's had worse head wounds, and the blood has come from more a scratch than a cut caused by the bark of the tree. The bleeding as since stopped and Sam is satisfied that his brother's head is the least of his worries.

He turns his attention to Dean's leg next. His heart beating a little heavier, Dean has never reacted to any sort of wound like that before, even though Sam knows the severe concussion may have had something to do with it too. He can't imagine the kind of pain from a leg wound and then having to walk on it to the point of passing out.

He really, really hates their life sometimes. That Dean knows that feeling know, has endured, knows he can endure it. It's so wrong, it's so unjust to his brother, who has never done anything to deserve this, has only every done good to those around him. Looking back he can't help but be proud at the way Dean handled himself, slightly in awe by how long his brother lasted out there.

He hates seeing his brother go through pain. And the last hour and a half has been nothing but that. And now he has to start it all over again. He can't help but feel it's so unjust and ugly, Dean must hurt, Sam must hurt him more in order to help him.

Shitty life.

He sighs, barely shaking fingers going to Dean's pant leg. He opens his pocketknife and rips up the seam. He pulls the jean up to his brother's knee and heaves a big, uneven sigh. The two lower, smaller wounds are deep claw marks running downwards, but the top deepest wound is like a bloody well.

This is what the scream and the losing consciousness had been about. Sam stuffs the back of his hand in his mouth as he gags. The wound in his brother's leg is just a seeping hole. There is no skin or flesh to be stitched back together. He gags agains as he thinks it looks more like the flesh was scooped out then clawed.

Sam looks away for a moment and breathes in through his nose, forcing a level of calmness on himself. He has no idea how to deal with this sort of wound, it's just an open pit of bleeding flesh in HIS BROTHER'S leg. Remembering Dean's agonized scream he can only imagine the pain of having his flesh being ripped out in chunks as the werewolf was jerked away from him when Sam stabbed him.

"Oh Dean," he says to the silent room, hands hovering for a second. First things first; deal with what he can actually deal with first. He can't help but feel like he failed his brother somehow as he cleans the smaller wounds and the skin around. If he just could have wrestled the wolf off him sooner or, if they had been paying attention and not being such cocky sons of bitches they'd have nailed the wolf before he had a chance at them.

Sam threads up a needle that he waved through the flames first and sprays Dean's raw flesh and skin with numbing solution. As gentle and as professionally as he can he begins to sew up the two gashes. As he is finishing up the higher of the two gashes closer to the largest wound Dean tosses his head to the side towards Sam and away from the fire.

Sam watches his hands shape into fists and then relax as Dean sighs, he can tell though, his brother is still unconscious and not just simply asleep. He hopes, praying and crossing his fingers that Dean will stay out until he's done all the touching and poking he needs to do to dress the wounds.

Stitches done he wipes away the clotting drops of blood under his neat white sewing job, and wraps white gauze around them tight enough to help stop the bleeding. Next he raises his flash light and leans over his brother to get a good look at the massive open wound. Sam would have to say he'd seldom seen anything more gruesome. He'd liken the wound after the way demon's eyes looked when the Angels smoked them just without all the charred black blood.

Speaking of which, Sam feels sick just thinking of the deep, open wound getting infected, the only way of fixing that would be antibiotics, which he doesn't have, or cauterizing it. In that case they would get the charred black blood look. He shivers nearly gagging again and looks over the wound carefully searching for any dirt particles or sign of dirt or unholy infections from the were's claws.

Sam is feeling sick just knowing what he has to do next. He unscrews the lid on his flask of holy water. He chews on his lip worriedly for a moment watching the drops of sweat already welling up on his brother's forehead. God, this going it hurt, like out of this world. Even if there is no infection from the werewolf's claws, regular water still burns like a bitch on any wound. Let alone this is probably the messiest, gruesomest wound Sam's even seen on his brother.

"Sorry Dean," he mumbles gripping his brother's wrist as he pours the water over the open hole.

The reaction is immediate, his brother Jack knife's off the sleeping bag, hand flying clumsily to grab Sam's hand that holds the holy water and jerk it away from the wound. He pants, wild eyes staring up at his brother, eyes dilated to nearly all black. Sam gives him a comforting smile even though his heart is hammering out of his chest.

"It's okay Dean," he says shakily, his hand going up to cup the side of his neck pushing him back down to the pillows. "It's okay, I gotcha', just bandaging your leg."

Dean falls back on his elbows and heaves some big breathes, sparkling, glazed over eyes still looking confused and a little panicked. Sam screws the lid back on the holy water and sets it aside. He pulls out some gauze pads and more long, white strips of bandages.

"It's okay Dean," he soothes, wiping the excess of water off his brother's skin, drying it for wrapping. "Almost done. Werewolf hunt remember?" He asks, to distract Dean, "Got you in the leg."

Dean lays the rest of the way back down, "Don't really 'member." He mumbles.

Sam nods, disorientation is expected after a hit on the head like that. "You'll be okay, just sleep it off, big brother."

Dean watches him, flinching and fidgeting as Sam presses two gauze pads over the wound and then wraps it snugly. Sam does the best he can, but the wound dressing is taking eternity with Dean flinching away from his fingers and hissing through his teeth with every touch of Sam's fingers our the bandages.

"Dean, hold still for me, buddy," he says as tenderly as he can, biting his lip trying to give the finishing touch...

"H'rts S'm," Dean whines pulling out from under his fingers and rolling a little towards the fireplace. Sam presses a hand to the left side of his chest, pushing him down to the sleeping bag, smiling at him calmly.

"I know it does man, I can't even imagine. But I'm not gonna stop until I'm done, so just hold still for me." Dean watches him with bright eyes but lays still as Sam splits the end of the white bandage and ties it firmly.

"There we go, see all done." Dean visibly relaxes on the sleeping bag and actually allows his head to rest completely on the pillow, all muscles lax. He watches Sam from under heavy lids, cheeks flushed against his still pale skin. Sam puts away their first aide supplies and watches his brother float amongst his own thoughts. It's unusual for Dean to be so quiet, even hurt. He hopes the torture of walking on his hurt leg hasn't resulted in any one of his severe coping methods. He's pretty sure Dean doesn't even realize he does it, but his brother copes about the unhealthiest, creepiest ways.

The worst of which is the silence, Sam can't do the silence, and with Dean so hurt, Dean can't risk that either. There's no drink up here, at least that Sam knows of, and his brother is too concussed to be angry and too weak for violence, so Sam kind of figures his mind might react with the whole strong silent option. He's determined to draw his brother out.

He can hear the wind whipping around the four walls of the cabin, the dirty windows are completely covered with icy, white snow. Sam can feel the cold creeping all around them, the warmth on his front a major contrast with the iciness climbing up his spine. His fingers wrap around his brother's feeling for coldness. He knows Dean's body isn't at his strongest right now.

"You cold, Dean?" He asks.

Dean kind of hms at him, head turned, staring at the flickering flames. The light dances in his glassy eyes.

"Weather's getting worse, don't ya think?" He asks his brother, carefully looking him in the eye, making sure Dean knows he's talking to him.

Dean gives somewhat of an answer, actually moving his head and looking at his little brother, eyes flickering to the door, he seemed to listen to the howling wind before turning back to the fire. Sam watches as Dean leans up on his elbow and yawns as he scratches at the white bandage on his leg.

Sam swats his hand away, "Dean, don't do that, your just gonna make it worse."

Dean turns wet looking eyes up to his little brother, "But it itches S'm," he nearly wails, as he tries to scratch again and Sam pushes his hand back towards his stomach.

"Don't be a baby," Sam accuses affectionately, he grabs one of the now thawed out water bottles. "Here, have some water, we need to keep you dehydrated."

Dean grumbles under his breath, but, very uncharacteristically, let's Sam hold the water bottle to his mouth. Sam frowns and Dean wipes the excess water from his lips laying back down. He sighs and his eyes drift back to the fire.

Dean's eyes flicker back to Sam every few minutes, a confused expression on his face. Sam thinks laughingly it's the expression Dean wears the majority of the time, he'd know it anywhere. He notices his brother fidgeting a little more, his fingers twitching and wanting to move down towards his bandaged leg.

Sam grabs his hand and holds it reassuringly, "Dean, stop it, just don't think about it, it'll stop itching." Dean whines in the back of his throat and fights to free his hand. When a particularly loud gust of wind sweeps around the corner of the cabin and rams into the front door, Dean freezes.

Sam is surprised by the unadulterated fear that passes over his brother's face.

Dean Winchester's face.

"What is it Dean?" He asks, his hackles rising immediately with that look on his older brother's face.

"S'mmy," Dean whispers, swallowing and looking around the cabin nervously. "Wha' 'appened to th' other wolf?"

Sam frowns and holds his brother's hand tighter thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of it, smoothing his other hand down Dean's leg. "We got him, Dean," he says smiling, "We got him, but not before he got you." His tone turns regrettable.

"N, no," Dean stutters through his slur, eyes glistening a little too brightly for Sam's liking, "Th' other one, one more...'S'mmy 'nother one."

Sam smooths a hand through his brother's tousled hair, "It's alright Dean," he soothes, "We got him, it's alright to sleep now, we got him." He pulls the blanket further up Dean, where it had fallen with Dean reaching to scratch. He rubs a hand over his brother's chest, feeling his breaths even out, watching his eyes coast open and closed, knowing sleep is coming soon, will chase away the cobwebs and shadows of passing out and the concussion.

Sam sits with him in silence, satisfied that his brother hasn't buried himself in himself. Sam's now coming down from his frantic high. Dean is alright more or less, not fainting away from blood loss or burning with infection. He's a little out of it, still really white, but their going to be fine, Sam's glad to say. Aren't they always? They always have to get back up and keep going.

He knows Dean's leg will take a long time to heal, will hurt even longer, but he's alive. That's the thing that means the most to Sam, the one thing he needs. The rest can be dealt with. He watches the expressions chase each other over Dean's face, his concussion leaving him like an open book. Fear, pain, comfort, when he glances Sam's way before surrendering to sleep, love. Sam smiles, wrapping his arms around himself to fend off some of the cold.

This hunt could have turned out a lot worse...

...

Present Day.

Sam drives on into the night, his eyes wide and barely burning. The adrenaline from the night not easily fading. He's been running on all empty for so long it'll take a while before his body is officially ready to shut down. The road races away under the impala, Sam only seeing enough to assure him he's heading home.

Beside him Dean sleeps, his dream still chases expressions over his face. Sam is glad Dean will sleep away the mild concussion and hopefully the heart ache. God, why was life so unfair to his brother? God knows Sam wished he had an answer, an answer to his life question. Why was this life so unfair to he and Dean? As many times before the night is going by while Sam Winchester tries to understand why what happens to him and his brother happens.

Dean makes him smile while he muses. He'll mumble under his breath, smack his lips, toss his head from side to side. Once Sam catches his name, slurred out fondly. His fingers seek out his left leg a few times, reaching for that scar, the scar of the wound Sam remembers all to well. On instinct he swats Dean's hand away from the still sensitive skin. He leans over and firmly pulls his pant leg over the scar and nearly dies of exasperation when Dean proceeds to loudly scratch the living daylights out of his jeans.

Watching mild grimaces and frowns dominate the expressions on Dean's face reminds of him of the happenings of that hunt. God, talk about another spectacular Winchester disaster. He doubts they could have screwed up the hunt so royally any other way. It wasn't their fault...it had been a bad hunt...a really, really bad hunt. It wasn't their fault at all it was probably the worst one ever.

tbc...

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	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4.

Dean's Dream.

In the fire place the flames crackled, outside the cabin the wind howled and swept around its four corners, and whistled down the chimney. Sam sits with his back against the side of the fireplace, knees bent over Dean's legs so they rest on the floor just on the other side of him. From here he gets some more warmth and can watch his brother's face for signs of worsening pain, can guard his leg from his ever questing fingers trying to itch at the white bandage.

He checks his watch, it's about eight-thirty p.m., Sam's stomach growls so he snacks on some nabs, the peanut butter kind. He doesn't know why, but Dean hates the things so bad, his brother will only eat the cheese ones. He thinks he should probably force feed Dean some for all the cheeseburgers he's forced on Sam. If Dean wakes and gets hungry Sam decides he'll try, but his brother ALWAYS knows exactly what's under his nose, especially if it's going into his mouth.

He watches Dean stir as he chomps down on his last cracker and nudges Dean's hand away from his bandage with the toe of his boot. Dean huffs in his sleep looking adorably offended and brings the hand up to rub under his nose instead. Sam chuckles, laughing over Dean's scrunched up nose, creating the crease in his forehead.

His brother shifts, sleep lifting slowly. A groan escapes his mouth as he tries to turn over, Sam leans forward pressing a gentle hand to his chest pushing him back until he's flat on his back again.

"It's alright Dean," he says to calm him, "You got hurt remember? Just lay still for me." Dean stops moving and complies immediately after hearing Sam's voice. His green eyes take their time making an appearance, blinking sleepily, peering up at Sam from under heavy lids. Sam smiles down at him once he's sure Dean is, in fact, conscious. He'd honestly been expecting him to sleep a lot longer.

Dean is shifty, wanting to move around, but stops for Sam whenever he urges him to be still. It only lasts about thirty seconds before Dean's shifting restless on the sleeping bag and grimacing with each movement. Sam can't help but wonder if it hurts why he doesn't just stop.

"Dean, sit still," he urges more forcefully. "Seriously, you're hurting yourself. I'm trying to help you, BE STILL."

Dean looks at him and Sam is all the sudden struck with the bright, glossiness of his eyes and the way his cheeks are flushed. He leans forward and presses his hand to Dean's cheek and then turns it over to place the back of it on his brother's forehead. Hot. Hotter than it was supposed to be, lying before a fire or not.

Dean tries to wriggle away from his hand, whining deep in his throat as the wind howls outside particularly loud.

"It's just the wind, Dean," Sam mumbles, distracted with feeling the heat coming off his brother in waves. The way his pupils haven't gone back to normal, the way he's so restless and nervous. All signs Dean Winchester is well on his way to a high fever. Sam places his hand over the bandages and feels the heat leaking through them as well. God, why them?

Seriously, how was the wound getting infected so quickly? Just their luck, he'd used holy water and everything. Granted it had been a short dose of the water, but still, Sam had never heard of holy water not doing its job.

"H'rts S'm," Dean objects to Sam's hand on his leg, shifting again, trying to escape him. "H'rting me..." He slurs out.

Sam frowns, Dean didn't usually throw around accusations like that, he must be feeling really bad. He removes his hand and rubs it down Dean's chest soothingly, he decides to try and get some liquid into his brother before unwrapping the wounds and taking a look at them.

He unscrews the bottle and gets up, steps over Dean and kneels by him. He slides a hand under his shoulders and holds the bottle to his mouth. Dean lifts a shaking hand to it but seems to know he wouldn't have much luck holding the bottle and let's Sam support it and him.

Sam lets him gulp down as much of the water as he wants. Mid drink the wind whips around the cabin and something bangs loudly against the wall outside. The wind howls down the chimney next and Sam fancies he could feel the cold blast. Dean jumps and chokes on the water and splutters as it bubbles from his mouth and down his chin. Sam uses the edge of the blanket to catch it.

Dean's eyes skip nervously around. Seemingly finding comfort in the shut door, which he stares at. Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallows and eyes jump from the door to Sam. Sam feels the tremors starting to rock through his brother. It's either too cold in this room for his wounded body or Dean's temperature has risen again. He fumbles through the first aide kit for a thermometer as Dean hiccups, recovering from choking on the water.

"Some'ins' outside, S'm," Dean whispers, his voice grating over his vocal chords.

"It's okay big brother, it's only the wind and the snow."

"For," hiccup, "real, S'mmy." He heaves in a shaky breath, "The 'nother wolf. There was 'nother one. I'm," hiccup, "sure."

"Okay," Sam soothes, his hand finally resurfacing from their supplies with a thermometer. "It's gonna be okay, Dean, I gotcha." He assures, and makes sure Dean sees the metal stick before he presses it against his lips where Dean accepts it from him. Sam listens to his brother's teeth clatter against it with his shivers until the little stick beeps.

Sam grabs it out of his mouth, leaving Dean pouting he hadn't been fast enough and he had wanted to be the one to see. Sam smirks at him, tilting the thermometer towards the fire so it's screen catches the light. 102.4. Not good, though it could be a lot worse, believe Sam, a lot worse.

"It's not that bad," he says out loud, putting the thermometer away before Dean decided he wanted to take his own reading. Dean just glares at him and then jumps as the wind sweeps around the corners whistling, banging that rogue shutter against the cabin walls. His brother is honest to goodness afraid, and it breaks Sam's heart when Dean's body turns against him, and betrays some of his feelings.

"Tol' you somethin's out there," he says huskily, and then turns back to the fire efficiently shutting Sam out.

Sam sighs and purses his lips, he shifts down Dean's body so he's facing his leg, and places his palm over the bandaged sight again. Heat is still wafting from his brother's body but his wounded leg is especially hot. As gently as he can he unwraps the white strips of bandages and bites his lips as he gingerly peels the gauze pads away.

The wound is still ugly. Just raw, angry red flesh. Blood leaving a rusty tint to the skin around, dark, dried and crusty on the perimeter. It can't hide the inflamed skin beneath though. Sam knows from experience that the angry redness of the skin surrounding the wounds is infection. Knows he has to kill it, drive that poison out of Dean's veins.

He can already see the swelling under his skin, puffing up around the wounds, the liquids rising soon would be oozing. This was moving fast. Way too fast, unnaturally fast. Sam grits his teeth know what he's going to have to do, even as Dean whimpers with his slightest touch to his skin. He's worried about his brother, knows the torture he's about to but him through may be too much for his fevered brain,

"Wha s'it, Sam?" He asks, Dean has been watching his face carefully as Sam inspected his leg. "S'it bad?"

"Nah," Sam shakes his head smiling, "You're good, gonna have to stay off that leg for while though." His fingers are trembling around the iron flask that holds the holy water.

"Gotta get outta here," Dean mumbles, squirming again, rising to his elbows and looking at the before mentioned leg. "S'm, le's go, le's go..." He drags himself the rest of the way up by Sam's jacket and bends his legs like he's about to rise. Sam grabs him by both shoulders shaking him a little to snap Dean's wavering eyesight and attention back on him.

"Dean, we're not going anywhere, you're hurt, and the weather's too bad to be driving down a mountain. You need to calm down. Try to go to sleep or something, let me take care of it, okay? It'll be okay." He presses his brother back towards the floor. Dean is regarding him with big, fever-glassed eyes, he can nearly see his pulse pounding away in his neck. Is it just Sam or is Dean heating the cabin up with his temperature?

"No, no," Dean mumbles even as he lets Sam guide him to the pillows. "We need to leave, S'mmy, we need to go, not s'fe."

Sam runs his fingers through Dean's sweaty hair, "Shsh, Dean. It's alright, I'm here, it's gonna be fine, just be still for me, okay?" He nods to himself, shushing Dean soothingly, running his hands down his arms, patting him on the chest. Dean's sweat shiny face is swollen especially around his eyes, the wear and tear showing in his quick heavy breaths. Sam's heart is breaking, and he's afraid. Afraid for his brother, for his leg...really, really, really, not looking forward to dousing the wound in holy water again.

Dean is calmer when Sam is touching him and near, so he obliges his big brother and his fears. Whether Dean is afraid for himself or for Sam and wanting him to stay close, Sam doesn't know, but he does know he wants his brother as close and as comfortable as possible too, so he plays along. Plus, Sam can't say no to his sparkling green eyes and the twisted grimace/pout of pain.

Sam decides to wait a few minutes before treating the infection, give his brother some time to relax and calm down. If he did it now, Sam is sure Dean would hyperventilate and pass out, which might be the best thing for him, but, Sam is a selfish bastard and wants Dean awake and conscious so he's not left alone with the gnawing fear that Dean is floating farther away from him.

So the night lengthens on, Sam adds wood to the fire, it's still growing colder, Dean is still awake, jumping at every sound. His eyes skittish under his swollen lids, trembling hands relaxing and forming into fists unconsciously. Sam watches, quietly talking to him, trying to find some sensitive way to tell a delirious Dean Winchester that his little brother is about to put him through some agonizing torture.

Dean solves the problem for him though.

...

Dean's fingers have been itching to scratch over the gouge in his leg, but Sam has been keeping him from doing it. Now he feels the heat and amplified pain, can feel his heart beat all the way down in his calf feeling as if all his blood is draining out. The sweat dripping down his body, even under his layers of clothing is sending chills all over his skin, nothing is warming him. Not even Sam's thumbs rubbing over the back of his hand comfortingly.

He can't really form many thoughts, he knows it hurts, he knows Sam's there, he knows the other wolf is out there, is probably stalking them...Sam's in danger.

It had been the millisecond before the wolf had thrown him into the tree trunk and he had felt the warm breath on his neck AS he listened to the wolf approach that he'd realized there had to be two wolves. One, which was breathing down his neck, and the other approaching. But he was too late. He saw the bark of the tree trunk coming towards him and that was his last intelligent thought.

After that all he knew was pain, burning, icy, dull, sharp...throbbing and ever present. Dean can't explain just how terrible the hurt that wraps itself around him is. Then the true iciness settles in his very core, his sweat wraps him in more chills and agony. Dean knows vaguely that he's in trouble. He tries to tell Sam about the wolf but his brother is assuring and comforting, he soothes back his fevered worries with gentle touches and soothing words.

Dean's confused mind takes Sam's comfort and allows it to wash over him in calming waves. Sam is there, he said he would handle it, Dean trusts him too...beside he feels like shit warmed over, and so cold...so cold. But then something changes. White, sharp pain in his leg, stealing his breath and making his heart beat spike. Breaths are a laughing matter and he writhes on the sleeping bag on the cabin floor. At least he knows that's where he was.

Through blurring eyes he sees Sam above him his face pinched with worry, but eyes blown wide with panic. He knows he's scaring Sam but he can't help it, he can't stop...he needs...he needs help. Something is wrong.

He tries to tell Sam, tries to hang onto the lapels of his jacket as Sam struggles with something in his hands. He's panting and with his loss of breath comes a loss of vision and what little coherency he had. Sam pushes something in his mouth between his teeth, and Dean gasps sobs around it, finding burning tears flooding down his hot cheeks as Sam straightens his leg and the burning white, hot pain tears through him magnified.

Then unimaginable fire spreads over him. Dean wonders before everything goes black if Sam had decided to cauterize the wound. Breath is gone from him, he doesn't realize he used it to give a blood-curdling scream, now his chest is just an empty hollow cavern. He feels his brain lose everything other than one thought; it hurts.

Please, he tries to plead of Sam. Make it stop, it was the last thought he had...

Sammy please.

...

Sam sees the change come over his brother. His breaths become shallower and faster, his pupils dilate larger, if possible. Worse, he watches a look of pure desperation come over Dean's face, watches as brutal shivers pass through him. His presence is barely acknowledged anymore as Dean writhes with a silent moan on his parted lips, Sam tries to ground his brother with his touch and voice like before, but he finds he may have officially lost Dean to the pain. Sometimes the pain was just too much, sometimes you just have to escape it, or simply give into it. Sometimes it is so much that the brain knows nothing else, it wipes its self clean of everything else other than the agony.

With Dean's distant but still brightly feverish eyes skidding around the room, his teeth chattering together as he jerks with his shivers, Sam decides things have escalated far enough. He glances back to his brother's leg to find it leaking a creamy, white and reddish liquid. With every beat of Dean's heart more red bubbles out. Sam closes his eyes against the wave of nausea that washes over him, he looks away for a moment, breathing through his nose and centers himself.

Then Dean's hands are grasping at him feverishly, fingers wrapping shakily in his coat, stuttered words escaping his mouth that shakes with the rest of him. His eyes are wide with fear and pain and something Sam's so unfamiliar with, but definitely recognizes as Dean reaching the end of his rope. A hopelessness, drowning in the pain in his eyes that brings tears to Sam's.

"S, somethin's wrong, S'm," he gasps out, "Somthin's wrong, this isn't how it s'possed to be, feelsssss..." his s draws out as he gasps with the movement to his leg as he shifts. "Feels wrong," Sam feels his heart jump as he watches Dean grit his teeth and grind his forehead into Sam's side, holding onto him for dear life.

"Neeeeeeed," he whispers out, falling back towards the dirty pillows. "Need." Sam knows what his brother means, he needs help, something needs to be done. Dean lets himself fall lax back on the thin pillows. Sam watches the breaths last shallowly in his chest, and then exhale out much too quickly. He knows that look in his brother's eyes, the way they grab onto his, he knows he's Dean's last and only hope, knows Dean is pleading with him to make it better, even though he can't form the words right now.

Sam shoves one of his own t-shirts into Dean's mouth between his teeth and at the same moment pours all of the remaining holy water out onto the open, raw wound. The scream that comes from behind his t-shirt is the most horrible thing he's ever heard. Don't ask him how but Sam can tell the drops of sweat from the tears washing down Dean's flushed cheeks. The salty drops leak from Dean's swollen and blood shot eyes are wringing some from Sam too.

He tries to hold them back tries to be strong for Dean. The holy water gives a searing sound and steam rises from the wound. Dean grounds out another subdued, desperate scream behind the shirt. Sam grabs his hand and holds it close to his side, the strength with which Dean grasps back tells Sam how severe the pain is.

"It's over, Dean," he comforts. Voice shaking as a few of his own frustrated, scared tears run down to his chin. "It's over, that's all. It's done."

His brother is still grounding his teeth together through the t-shirt, Sam thinks he can't listen to anymore of the moaned out cries, as his brother's body is finally giving out on him. Sam knows Dean is about to go under.

"Okay, okay," he says softly and soothingly. "Alright we're good, it's all good." His hand presses onto Dean's chest and rubs soothingly, trying to get those breaths back and even.

But the leg wound doesn't calm down as soon as Sam expected. Dean is left writhing as wisps of steam and that same frothy creamy substance leaks from the wound. The whole time Dean tries to ground out his agonized screams by gritting his teeth around the shirt. Sam knows there's no way to stop what he started, no way to take away this hurt until the holy water works out all the infection.

So he tries to calm Dean, tries to get him to take bigger, deeper, more efficient breaths. Dean's eyes manage to catch Sam's for a moment. They're wild, Sam's not even sure Dean can see him, but he gives him a loving smile and whispers an apology, sosorrydean,didn'tmeantohurtyouthoughtitwouldhelp,havetogettheinfecitonout.

He's losing him. Dean's about to lose consciousness AGAIN.

I'm losing him, Sam thinks frantically.

"Dean," he calls sharply, "Stay with me big brother, we'll make it right, just don't give up." Dean's still streaming eyes jerk back to him, his body shaking through the pain and the fever chills.

"Plzzzz," he wheezes out, through sobbing breaths. "S'mmy, plz," he whispers.

"I'm doing my best," Sam soothes, "I'm working on it, Dean. Had to clean it again, had to be done, buddy. I'm here," he whispers, hand coasting over sweat soaked hair, fingers letting the wet threads of hair smooth through them, "I'm here for you, not going anywhere."

Sam watches Dean's awareness leave his eyes, watches the swollen lids cover his still watering eyes. His body is still awake, still fitfully spasming, but Dean is away from it now, and away from Sam. Sam feels strangely alone and wraps his arms around himself in the dark silent room. The last pleaded words echoing through the empty wooden structure.

"Plz, make it st'p, S'mmy."

Sam slips the shirt from Dean's mouth and drenches it in water from one of the water bottles and places it over Dean's insanely hot forehead. He gently begins to wipe away the bloody, whitish substance from Dean's leg and the sleeping bag under him. He cleans it the best he can but immediately covers the spot with another one of their blankets wanting to keep the infection far away from the newly cleansed wound.

He presses another gauze pad to the wound and watches the shiver run up his brother's body, the soft moan that escapes him in his sleep. Light as a feather his fingers wrap the wounds in white strips again. Hides the ugly wounds from the uglier world, and the air that is full of germs and infections.

He feels so much calmer with the wounds wrapped and the problem covered up. He thinks, (hopefully he doesn't jinx himself and Dean) that the worst is over. He's never seen such a severe reaction to holy water except from demons. If all the infection wasn't out, his brother needed a doctor and he thinks with a racing mind how he can get Dean down the mountain if such a case should arise.

God, if he had a way he'd leave now, brave the weather and the mountain and Dean's wrath if he wrecked his baby in the iciness. He wants to take Dean to the hospital, where there are antibiotics and sterilized EVERYTHING. And safety from the cold, wise doctors and nurses who knew nothing of his brother other than that he was hurt and they WANTED to help him.

He feels utterly miserable sitting Indian style beside Dean, his limp, hot, dry hand grasped in both of his. Both thumbs pressed to his wrist feeling that lovely life racing through him. Here he can see and feel how fragile it is, the thing that is life. He knows if he doesn't do right by Dean and this wound, his brother will die. What risk was too great for his brother's life? The worst is over now, he thinks.

But what if it's not? What if Dean gets worse? If he gets worse and their still up here, it will be too late. Too late.

Sam's breath is lodged in his throat alongside his heart at that thought. They need to get out of here, they need to get down this mountain and back to civilization where he can get help for Dean. He's up in the blink of an eye, throwing everything into their duffles and the weapons bag. He stuffs his research into his bag alongside his useless laptop, and grabs the keys where he left them on the table.

He's done tidier packing jobs, but definitely never such a fast one. He scans the now even more bare room and is satisfied he's left nothing behind. After he loads their stuff he'll come for his brother. He knows it won't be easy transporting Dean even the short distance to the car, but he's used to hauling Dean's wounded ass around by now.

He opens the door, and the gust of wind that meets him literally holds him back for a moment. He lifts an arm in front of his face and stumbles out of the cabin and down the few steps, reaching to wrench the door closed behind him. Dean had parked the impala only a few yards from the cabin but from here Sam can't even see it with his flash light through the swirling snow. With his hand reached out he soon finds her familiar firm shape amidst the cold snow. He follows his hands down her sleek side to the trunk which he unlocks and wrenches it open through the ice.

He throws the duffles and his bag in and shuts the trunk firmly. He unlocks the back door closest the cabin next and works it open through the ice. Making sure it will be easy to open, he pushes it shut. Next he clears the windshield with his arm and hand, sweeping the snow down onto her hood, imagining the way Dean would whine if he saw all the snow on his Baby, making her 'rusty'.

It's then a particularly bitter gust of wind whips around the corners of the cabin and into him, cutting through his clothes and sending shivers and chills and goosebumps all over his body.

The chillingly realistic howl that follows is definitely NOT THE WIND.

No way it was. The wind and the howl had been nearly the same time, but not quite.

Sam freezes.

The snow and wind are sweeping around him in a brutal dance, he can hardly see a thing. Sam jerks away from the impala and raises his head trying to catch the eery sound again. The flashlight lighting only a few feet ahead of him and then nothing but swirling, sparkling snow. It would have been beautiful if Sam hadn't been so desperate. It's then that his flash light illuminates the one thing he doesn't expect to see. A foot print.

A wolf's print.

Another follows after it, another...and then another. The tracks lead off towards the back of the cabin, Sam can already guess they lead around, and around again. They've been being circled this whole time.

Dean was right, there was another wolf. And he'd been right; it had been howling, been blatantly challenging them. No doubt infuriated by the death if it's mate, partner, friend or...brother, Sam thinks sickeningly.

Sam realizes this must have the wolf they'd been listening to approaching when the other attacked Dean. He doesn't understand though, why it hadn't attacked them when they had attacked the other wolf? Werewolf's were loyalists, had packs...were all about family and blood. Really Sam and Dean should understand them.

Revenge.

That's what the stalking around outside and howling from the distance had been about, they weren't being attacked, they were being cunningly hunted. That's when Sam jerks around and starts running for the cabin. The light of the warm fire reflects on the snow through the open door that Sam himself had closed.

Dean.

tbc...

PLEASE REVIEW! ;)

thank you


	5. Chapter 5

I've got to speed up my posting schedule because this was meant to be a hiatus story, so I've got to finish up real quick. Only one week left to wait!

Chapter 5.

On the bottom step up into the cabin Sam stands rooted to the spot. The door is open giving him a fine view of his brother with the light of the fire playing over his sweaty face. Beside him, silhouetted against the fire in a sharp black, profile is the biggest wolf Sam has ever seen. Sitting back on its haunches, shoulders set back high and proud, head and snout bent towards Dean's prone figure. It's tail lies on the floor curled around its bent hind legs, from here Sam can hear the soft, low growl rumbling in the beast's chest, his heart freezes.

The wolf is magnificent in size. It's dark, black fur lying glossy and clean close to its lean, muscled flesh. It's ears standing from its head in a curious, amiable manner. It doesn't look at all like its about to attack. But Sam is a hunter. The wolf is sitting next to his wounded brother, and it is between them. Dean isn't much of a threat, but Sam is so afraid of what it might do when he makes his presence known.

The way in which the wolf nuzzles down Dean's body to his wounded leg is strangely gentle and intelligently inquisitive. Sam thinks with soul jolting fear that it looks for all the world like an examination. Would Dean make a good werewolf? What were his genes? Would he be a rabid half breed? Or would he be transformed into a complete wolf, gloriously carefree and howling to the moon?

Sam can see him now. Tall and strong and agile. Dark brown fur, tinted with a sparkling red. Bright, glowing, almond-shaped green eyes in a sharp featured face leading down into a delicate snout. Sharp teeth, long, fast legs with paws that would carry him over the earth with the greatest speed. His hunter's instincts only heightened, his sense of loyalty only strengthened...if a werewolf could ever be a good and beautiful person Sam's sure it would be his brother.

But this wolf before him, currently sniffing over his brother, is not good, has been hunting them. It is an alpha, the very way in which it fills up the room assures Sam he's right. He wants that thing away from his brother. Now. He squeezes his hands into fists and grinds his teeth together. Sometimes you just have to wait for the good stuff.

He has no weapon, everything is in the car...in the shut and locked trunk. And there's no way in hell he's leaving Dean alone with that thing, even to get a gun. The wolf is fricking TOUCHING Dean, and he's being forced to watch. He takes the moment to breathe. To drive everything else away from his mind to focus on the wolf, and only the wolf. Perhaps that's why he misses it, the usual tells that his brother is waking.

Twitching eyelids, a pink tongue wetting dry lips. Perhaps that's why the wolf hadn't yet seen Sam, maybe it was listening to and watching Dean with unbreakable attention too. It's glowing eyes stayed on the downed hunter's face, it's nose still nuzzling the white bandages, it's tongue making an appearance when it sniffs Dean's hand where it lays limp by his side. The wetness causes Dean to flinch, but Sam is watching the wolf with all his energy.

All he knows is the wolf is too close to his brother, shouldn't be touching him. NOT SAFE, is the only message his brain is sending. With heart beating wildly he opens his mouth to make himself known, raises a foot to step up into the room, mind racing desperately for an improvise.

And then Dean moves.

...

Cold drafts of air are bringing Dean up from his blissfully ignorant state. He fights as best he can to succumb to unconsciousness again, to go back to that peaceful, painless place and stay there. But not such luck for him, the sharp, burning pain in his leg is dragging him upwards through what feels like quick sand his head is so groggy. Speaking of which, why does it bang so bad, why is he so cold? Where is Sam?

He doesn't remember much, just that he was miserable and cold and hurting, and now he is miserable and cold and hurting, and he wants it to stop. And he wants Sam. Like really wants Sam. Is scared, can't remember why, but he is, and he wants his brother. He can't think of a good reason not to be a baby about this. His head feels as if it's been packed with cotton balls, and like all his thoughts have been insulated.

He's still majorly confused, can't really remember where he is, just knows Sam should be there. Dean just knows he should be ready and he's not and it makes him afraid. They are in danger, Sam is in danger. It's the left over feelings of fear and confusion that fills his mind with those same emotions even more potently.

The shivers wracking through him aren't helping with the feeling of vulnerability that is encompassing him. It's when his eyes lids open, feeling as though boulders are on top of them and his eyesight is blurry that he knows something is REALLY wrong. The room is taking its time bringing its self into focus, all Dean can really make out is the glow from the fire and a dark silhouette over him. Maybe Sam WAS there.

He shifts, and gasps at the pain, dry lips parting, tongue licking to moisten them. The thing above him moves, and then comes into focus, clearing to come into its own shape. A wolf. The wolf.

Dean remembers.

Where is Sam? He thinks wildly. Had the thing already got him? Was he dead, was sweet Sammy dead? Please God, no. That was the fear, that was the strong urge to get up and do something, to flee.

Dean jumps when something wet licks into his hand, his wide green eyes are met with two shining blue ones from the wolf's face. All is frozen for a moment. Dean's heart paralyzed with fear, no breath for more than a minute. The wolf just stares at him steadily, sizing him up seemingly. Dean is afraid, but fails to feel threatened. His instinct screams at him for action, his body is burning with pain. His head spinning and heart beat banging agains his brain.

He's entirely too confused and his senses overwhelmed for him to do anything. The wolf still wavers out of focus, sometimes when a violent shiver passes over him his eyes close on their own accord. He has no way of knowing these were waves of heat from his fever, fighting the infection in his leg.

The wolf nuzzles him in the face and Dean is officially done. He doesn't like the thing so close. He feels like he's crawling out of his own skin but can't even move fast enough to do so. With pain and chills wracking through him, Dean pulls himself up on his elbows, the wolf watching all the time. Gritting his teeth against the moan trying to escape, he rises into a sitting position and using his hands, drags himself off the sleeping bag and through the pain until he curls up in the corner between the wall and chimney.

The wolf watches him with glowing eyes and just follows him going at Dean's pace so that when Dean falls back against the wall panting and sweating drops, it is right there. Dean raising his eyes to it, as he wraps his shaking arms around his knees tugging them closer to his body and away from the huge wolf.

The wolf stands over him, tail swishing lazily in the air. Glowing eyes meeting his, head bent so they are nearly nose to nose.

Dean can't do anymore. He's shaking from the effort it took to move himself that far. He is bone tired, whatever has happened to him has zapped all his strength away, has nearly done him in. The wolf fades out of sight again, it's colder over here, he is so freaking cold, and tired and it hurts, God it hurts, really bad...he just wants Sam. This stupid wolf is just staring at him. Eat him, or leave and let Sam come back to him.

Without really thinking, eyes blinking lazily, unconsciousness wavering around him like a low rain cloud in summer, Dean lifts his shaking hand towards the giant wolf's snout. The creature really was beautiful, it looked soft, it hadn't hurt him yet. Floating on some fever cloud, he found no reason to reach out and touch the werewolf...

...

Sam freezes and watches with a thundering heart as Dean pushes up on his elbows and then drags himself across the room and into the little corner. Sam's never seen his big brother make himself so small, he's never seen him look so miserable and scared before either. Maybe it had something to do with the huge wolf ghosting and mirroring his movements, or maybe it was just that the hurt and confusion was coming off his brother in waves.

Sam clenches his hands into fists as he watches Dean curl up on himself and watch the wolf, which is right in his face, with wide, glassy eyes. The creature stands in front of his brother, still offering no threat, just an eery stare that really bothers Sam. Dean seems uncomfortable for a few moments and then seems to slowly be losing it again. His head falls to rest against the side of the chimney, his mouth falls open a little. The shaking is still there, the flush on his cheeks is visible even the dark room.

It's the brightness in Dean's fever blurry eyes that really scares Sam. He knows that look, that intelligent look that mirrors thoughts whizzing through his brother's head lightening fast. Delirious Dean thinking was never a good thing, delirious Dean DOING was even worse. He knows his brother is hurting, and running a high fever, cold enough for his teeth to be chattering, and confused. And afraid, God, Sam knows Dean's blurry mind has latched onto the fact that he's not there, knows it's tearing his big brother apart inside along with all his physical problems.

But he would never be prepared for Dean to lift his hand, palm facing out, reaching towards the wolf where it's head is bent so their noses are across from one another. His brother is about to FREAKING PET a werewolf. A huge one, an alpha. Sam steps up in a flash into the room. The wolf's head swings around to light his glowing eyes on him. Dean pauses, cocking his head confusedly and follows the wolf's line of sight. Sam freezes, just inside the door, hands spread out before him.

"Get away from him." He demands in a low voice.

The wolf's top lip lifts in a snarl and the growl rumbles deep in its chest. But it makes no movement away from Dean or to attack Sam. It seems to be waiting for the other shoe to drop, Sam takes a step forward, and it snarls at him again, tail wafting in the air, making sure Sam is directly in front of him with every movement, the wolf's large body sways and looks nervous.

"Get away from him, and I'll let you go." Sam says, taking another step forward. This earns him a high-pitched whine in the back of the wolf's throat, but the creature moves away from Dean.

Sam edges around the room staying as far away from the wolf as he can and goes to his knees beside his brother. Arm going around his shoulders, he pulls Dean's shivering form to him. Sam would have thought him unconscious again if it hadn't been for the way Dean's hands desperately fisted in his coat and tried to drag him closer. Sam pulls him tight against his chest, and Dean lets his face hide under the lapels of Sam's coat against his shirt's soft material.

Sam feels nearly suffocated under Dean's furnace of a body. The fever has only risen, and all this movement and excitement wasn't good for the wound or his brother's confused, banged up head. He can feel the shaking, the shivers. Knows the difference between a simple embrace and the vice like grip Dean has on him. The one that says 'I'm never letting you go', but more heartbreakingly, 'please, never let me go'.

The wolf is pacing the floor in front of the open door, about to give Sam a nervous breakdown. He raises fearful eyes to the huge beast's and wonders what it's waiting on. He had said he'd let it go if it moved. It had left Dean alone, but now it hadn't made its escape. It knew they had killed the other one, it knew they were hunters.

"Go on," he said, "I meant it, you kept your half of the deal, I'll keep mine...but not for long. Better shag ass out of here while I'm not looking."

The wolf gives him a sharp look and then stops dead in its tracks. Before Sam can get another word out, it's body contorts. Though it's mainly grotesque, Sam can't help but think that the grace with which the furry body transforms is beautiful. In the wolf's place, a woman sits on the floor with Raven black hair falling over her shoulders. The blue eyes she raises to meet Sam's are glowing and piercing, the blood red mouth just completes her look. She's is the very human embodiment of a werewolf.

She blinks at him in silence for a few moments. Sam reaches over to Dean's make shift bed and throws the old blanket over to her. Never taking her eyes off Sam she wraps it around herself, and holds it together over her breasts. There's a few more moments of silence in which Dean whimpers and Sam watches a tell tale red stain seep into the white bandage on his brother's leg. His hand goes up to cup the side of Dean's burning face and silently pleads with him to just hold on, just hold on, they'll be out of here in a few minutes. Dean just holds onto him tighter, seems to just be breathing in his presence, reassuring himself that Sam is in fact, there.

...

Dean's fingers had itched to feel the fur of the wolf, but when Sam's low tones had reached his ears, it knocked a certain level of sense back into his head. He cringed away from the wolf and wrapped his arms around himself. Feeling the shivers increase as the wolf's eyes, that had a strange calming effect on him, turn away from him and landed on something on the other side of the room.

Dean followed the wolf's gaze and there, thank you God, found Sam. His brother stood taking up the door frame. Lines of his face hard and cold, and set determinedly. He spoke again, Dean couldn't really understand what he was saying, but the sound of his low voice washed over Dean like salvation. Calmness took over him, now that Sam was there. Sam was okay and he would take care of everything. He'd come back for Dean.

The wolf seemed to object, snarls and growls rumbling in its chest and vibrating in Dean's head painfully. All he wanted was Sam, he wanted the wolf to move, he didn't really give a damn what hat happened to it, just as long as Sam stayed. He closes his eyes pressing himself farther back into the corner as pain rips through him with every breath. The heat under his skin is but a phantom because he's so freaking cold, he can barely catch breath through his shivering and chattering teeth.

His leg is screaming in pain, hurt, agony...but screaming for what he doesn't know. Nothing makes it better, nothing changes the fact that he would actually take a doctor up on an amputation right now. So he waits for the inevitable. Waits for the other shoe to drop. Prays Sam comes to him. That freaking wolf is in the way.

When the wolf growls again and begins to move. Dean screws his eyes shut even tighter and buries his face in his knees. He fully expects the wolf to charge Sam and rip his throat out. Instead a few moments later his brother's arms are around him pulling him close, protecting him, assuring him he's there, that he's alive. Dean doesn't open his eyes, won't break the spell, what ever beautiful fever dream this is.

His fingers tighten around Sam's coat and his face is guided to hide in the safety of his brother's chest. Maybe this is real after all. Feels like Sam, smells like Sam. He gasps relieved breaths against Sam's shirt and feels some of the tension around his chest dissipate. Sam keeps him close, but Dean can feel his brother's attention distracted from him.

The wolf. Right. Dean had nearly forgotten. He feels Sam's voice rumble in his chest and it soothes over his right ear where it lays against his beating organ. He feels another rumble vibrate through the room as the wolf obviously unappreciated what Sam says.

Better not piss off the giant werewolf, Sammy boy.

But then his brother has always been a little smart alec. A few moments of silence pass, Sam leans forward and grabs something, chucking it across the room. Dean whimpers, frowning at the movement which jars him painfully. Sam's hand comes to the side of his face, reassuring him, probably reassuring himself. Dean leans into it, anything that's different or a distraction from the pain he's feeling right now.

Then a new voice washes over him, the tones husky and a little deep, but definitely a woman's. He feels the difference as soon as he hears her. Her voice soothes over him, washing away so much of the agony he's experiencing right now. The heat and itching and sharp pain his leg fades a little as she speaks. He doesn't hear what she's saying, just that it leaves him panting in relief against Sam's chest.

...

There's a smile turning up the woman's red lips as she rises and spares a look to Dean before her gaze jumps back to Sam. She closes the door, shutting out the cold and snow and wind. She runs a hands through her mane of black hair, sweeping it from her face. Sam didn't think she was particularly pretty, more terribly beautiful than anything. She was the epitome of a strong woman.

"A smart hunter," her husky voice says to Sam lightly, "How refreshing."

Sam gives her a bitch face.

When Sam doesn't answer her she walks towards them and stands a few feet away looking down on the brothers, wrapped in the blanket. "You'll let me go, huh?" She asks, eyebrow lifted incredulously, or mockingly. Sam's not sure which.

"I said I would," Sam ground out.

"I've been around for an age...literally," the woman says not unkindly, "Hunters, humans...say a lot of things."

Sam supposes they had that coming, they weren't exactly a trusting or trustworthy race.

"When you're friend heals, you'll be back to finish the hunt; me."

Sam had to give her credit, she knew her stuff.

"Look," he said, "I'm sorry about your friend..."

She cuts him off with the first unkind, threatening sound yet. Her laugh is light and melodious, though somehow still rumbles in her small chest much like the wolf she'd been moments before.

"Don't trouble yourself, hunter." She says pleasantly, "He was no friend of mine."

Then Sam gets it. It all dawns on him. "Those kills were all his. You were hunting him too."

She winks at him, like 'hey look at you, right again!'

"Yes, we give refuge to half breeds, but only if they can control themselves."

"We?" Sam questions, thinking it was a stupid thing for the alpha wolf do to, to reveal there were more wolves around.

She nods, looking entirely unfazed, "My pack and I."

"Well, in that case, sorry we took you're kill," Sam states, dry with sarcasm.

"Hm," she stares at Dean's shivering shape still encased in Sam's arms. "Looks like it would have served you better to stay out of our business."

Sam couldn't have agreed more.

"Still," she says, "We're in quite the pickle now."

Sam agrees, though he's confused, he already offered her freedom. And their blind eye, at least until Dean was better.

"I told you, you can go." He says looking her straight in the eye.

"But I don't trust hunters." The wolf returns, "And though your the most impressive I've ever met it doesn't change anything. We both need a little more incentive to stay away from each other...and each other's own." Sam cringes at the way her piercing blue eyes land on Dean.

"What are you talking about?" he snaps.

Her voice takes on a harder, deeper tone. "You forget about me, about the half bred, about everything. Don't ever let me see your faces again...and I'll let you and your friend go."

"And if we don't take you up on that offer?"

She cocks an eyebrow, "You're friend there isn't really up to fighting condition, is he now? In fact, weird infection? High fever, delirium?"

Sam bristles, "How'd you know?"

"He will die if he's not changed," she states matter of factly.

Sam's breath dies, his heart is in his throat. "No, you're wrong." Is all he can manage weakly.

She chuckles drily, "The half breed was indeed rabid, your brother will never stand a chance against the infection. But maybe as a wolf..."

Sam hugs Dean closer to him, Dean would never want this, would never ask for that. Even if it meant he lived. But Sam can't lose his brother. Not again. He just got him back not too long ago. He knows he has two choices. He'll hate himself forever if he picks the one, and Dean will hate him forever if he picks the other.

He looks back up to the sapphire eyes of the wolf, his own wet and shining, but reflecting the strength of decision.

tbc...

PLEASE REVIEW! ;)

thank you


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6.

Sam looks down into Dean's face with eyes made blurry by tears. He knows the wolf is right. The wound on his brother's leg had been screwed up since the beginning. It had immediately knocked Dean on his ass, Sam had known something was wrong he just didn't know what. Now looking at Dean resting against him, barely conscious, body burning with fever, eyes slitting open every few minutes just to make sure he was still there with him he knows Dean is going down.

When Dean had disappeared into purgatory it had been unexpected, the pain had been unreal. Sam had been dazed, shocked, blindsided. He dropped everything and he ran, because he didn't know how to do anything worth doing without his brother. He couldn't anticipate doing anything worth doing without Dean.

Now as Sam holds his brother's limp body close looking ahead and knowing what is in store for him is millions of millions of times worse. Looking ahead and knowing the pain, and hurt and guilt and the loneliness, God, the loneliness that crushes Sam's soul. That swallows every other thing. He has to choke back the panicked sob in his throat as he clutches Dean closer to him.

Dean would never want to be werewolf. And Sam can't ask him to do that just so they can be together. Can't ask him to become one of the things they hunt just because he can't live without his big brother. Maybe the wolf is wrong, maybe Dean will survive. His brother is strong, his brother is a fighter.

He looks back up into the sapphire eyes of the wolf, his own wet and shining, but reflecting the strength of decision.

"I can't...he wouldn't want that." He stammers out.

The feeling of defeat that crashes into him is nauseating. The ache in his chest is taking his breath away. He forgets about the wolf, safety doesn't really matter anymore. She won't harm a fading Dean and Sam no longer cares for his own safety. He slides down the wall so he can sit against it, pulling Dean fully into his arms. His brother goes with him. Little reaction other than a soft whimper and a faster breath with the pain of being shifted.

His hands are unconsciously loosening their grip from Sam's jacket as he slips down into deeper oblivion. Sam doubts he'll be awake again before the time comes. Biting the side of his mouth to keep in the angry sobs that want to escape, he lets a scalding tear lose and determines he'll be with Dean until Dean can't be with him anymore.

He turns his head towards Dean and the wall, away from the wolf, and rests his cheek in his brother's hair. Closing his eyes, letting more hot tears fall quietly into the soft brown spikes. He wasn't ready, this wasn't the way it was supposed to happen. After purgatory had been their own little miracle. Their chance at 'again', Sam had been determined they wouldn't die like this. That they would have time to say goodbye to one another, to learn to live without the other constantly there. As it was it was just ripping a ragged, gaping hole in his heart all over again.

Right next to the scars from the uncountable times before.

...

The wolf stands rooted to the spot a few feet away from them. A glowing softness settles over her sharp features, recognition fills her eyes. She knows this feeling, she knows the heart crushing feeling of losing someone you love. Losing family. Losing someone who was loyal to you, and you loyal to them.

She sees how the hunter before her will stand by his decision. He is too loyal to his friend, too loyal to turn him into something he hates, even though it breaks his own heart into a thousand pieces. The wolf knows this, understands this, love hurts, loyalty costs you.

She knows the man turns his head into the hair of his friend to hide the tears from her. To feel and be close to him until the very last possible moment. She finds her heart going out to this man who seems to know and understand what it is to be a werewolf without realizing it. For the first time in her very long life, she learns humans are in fact capable of, deep abiding love and loyalty. It warms her cold heart like only her pack usually can.

She kneels down next to them, though still giving them their own space.

"Perhaps I can sweeten the deal?" She questions, voice soft, but rumbling more than previously.

Sam turns a wet face towards her, her breath momentarily taken away by the utter pain and misery reflected in his eyes. "There is no possible way for you to make the deal sweeter. He's my brother, my only family left. He practically raised me, he's saved my life more times than I care to count, he's died for me...not even you and all your wolves will ever understand that."

She purses her lips, but doesn't respond. The hunter is right. She can't even begin to fathom the bond she sees and senses between these two men.

"Same deal, you forget about us, never return, and...I save your brother."

She thinks for a moment he doesn't hear her. But slowly the hunter turns to look at her again. Hair sticking to his tear soaked skin, eyes wild. She can see his mind swirling millions of miles an hour, she sees the haunted hope he's barely allowing himself to entertain.

"What do you mean?" He questions slowly, arms still tight around his brother. A hand over his head, keeping him pressed close. She knows he feels the shivers wracking through the man's body, even as she can feel the waves of fever coming off him from her place a few feet away.

"I think I can heal your brother, at least kill the infection, in return you honor the former conditions of our deal." She watches emotions fly over the man's haunted face. She sees the hope, the joy, the crushing doubt that fills him when she says, 'I think.' She prays she's right, that she can heal the wolf-based infection currently tearing the hunter's brother's body to pieces.

"You think?" The hunter questions hoarsely, eyes brows raised ironically.

She smiles, trying to sooth the man's warring emotions, trying not to become the object of his wrath and frustration. "The infection started with us wolves, as alpha I may be able to stop it, may be able to cleanse your brother."

...

Things are about to fly out of control when her voice is back and talking to him softly. Sam jerks his head around to her, wants to express to her how could she, or anyone ever understand this thing that is he and his brother. They would never know the man Dean Winchester, and so they would never know the hurt and torture it was or have that man ripped away from you. To have that brother taken from you. To say goodbye to that warm, safe love forever and ever.

Then she's saying she can heal Dean, can save him. Saying SHE THINKS it will work. She thinks? Does Sam trust her? Can he trust her? Can he trust her for Dean? The hell, this is Dean he's talking about here...anything for Dean. Anything to save him, anything to keep him right where he belongs. With Sam.

Suddenly he's nodding.

"Okay," he says, a little breathlessly. "You can try."

She nods gently and motions for him to help her move Dean back into the glow of the fire. Sam wraps his arms around Dean's chest and pulls him from the corner, he stills once Dean is stretched out before the fire again, they manage to get his body back on the wrinkled sleeping bag. Sam pulls Dean within the v of his legs and let's his head rest on his thigh. From here he feels like he could hold his brother down if things got rough, if this worked.

It was a hard thing to face. Helping Dean was going to hurt him more, but, God please, anything other than losing him again. Dean barely shifts while being moved all over creation. His body is still burning up and being rocked with shivers. Sam keeps his arms around him, a hand laying his chest, over his heart where he can feel the frantic beating.

"I've only ever seen this done once," the wolf says with a frown as she unwraps the white bandages from around the wound and glances to Sam.

"Just try it, anything for Dean."

She nods understandingly. "Name's Sapphire, but the way." She says.

Sam raises his eyebrows. "Original."

She rolls her eyes and then drops the blanket from around her. It's just a flash of ivory skin before black fur is covering her and her body is doing its strange dance in becoming the wolf. The next heart beat the wolf is standing before them, panting slightly.

Sam meets her piercing blue eyes unflinchingly and the magnificent black creature takes it as the go ahead.

She pads silently over to Dean and lowers her head towards the bright red, oozing hole in his leg. Her soft pink tongue makes an appearance and slides over the wound. Sam grimaces. Ew. More for the wolf or for Dean he's not sure, but yeah, ew. There's no immediately reaction from either Dean or the wolf. She licks again, and Sam notices a difference in the wound. More liquids were oozing from the open wound, less blood and more...puss it looked like. Sapphire kept licking, much to Sam's stomach's dismay. It wasn't until about a minute later Dean shifted.

His first sign of life in over thirty minutes.

At first he just shifts his body on the sleeping bag, a grimace passing over his face. Sam feeling elated at the soft, barely perceptible movements. Next he tosses his head restlessly to the side on Sam's thigh, a soft moan escaping his dry, parted lips. Sam shushes him, pressing a hand onto his chest to keep him still for Sapphire.

The wolf patiently licks and Sam is nauseated by knowing THAT STUFF was flowing through his brother's veins. The creamy liquid has become thicker with a dark tint to it. He has to look away and whisper to Dean 'it's alright' to calm himself again. It's when Dean clenches his hands into fists that Sam knows things are about to get worse.

"It's alright Dean," he soothes, grabbing one of his hands and threading his fingers through his brother's so Dean could clench his hand tight. "It's alright, it's going to be okay. We're fixing it, big brother, just hold on."

Dean tosses his head restlessly again accompanied by a groan that's sounded a whole lot like 'Sam'. When the wolf licks over the wound the next time Dean's fingers close like vices over Sam's and his body goes rigid, all muscles straining. Sam looks up quickly to Sapphire, the 'is this the way it's supposed to be' question dying on his lips.

Her glowing blue eyes are fixed on Dean's face, she looks at Sam and nods. It's working.

She bends her majestic head again and licks over the seeping wound. Sam swallows thickly at the amount of dark liquid now oozing from the wound. He guesses correctly that this is the very essence of the infection. It's nearly black and gloppy. When Sapphire licks this time Dean's eyes shoot open and fly down to his leg.

His wide pupils light upon the huge wolf but his reaction isn't startled, but rather like he expected to find her there. His eyes seek out Sam directly after, his panting breaths heaving in his chest, his fingers still holding on to Sam for dear life. As the wolf licks again drawing the infection out. Dean lets out a groan from between clenched teeth that would have been a scream otherwise. He breathes deep and fast, Sam can see he's trying to compose himself, trying to calm down. Sam realizes this is the most Dean's been present since he was wounded.

He smooths a hand through his brother's hair and comforts his, whispering to him. "Almost done Dean, doing so good, brother. Almost over."

Dean gazes up at him with wide eyes, still glassy with fever, but Sam thinks he doesn't feel so hot anymore. Sapphire speeds up, and Dean grinds his teeth and groans out between them through the pain. Sam holds onto him tight, afraid Dean might have an aneurism or something his brother looks to be straining so hard.

Dean knows the pain is helping him, so he's trying not to fight and he's trying not to scream bloody-murder, but it doesn't fool Sam as to how terrible the agony his brother is going through truly is. Dean's leg is less swollen. The sleeping bag underneath it is swimming with the liquids from the wound. Sam is glad to see hardly any blood at all.

Dean lets out a last terrifying moan as the wolf runs its tongue over the wound and down into the chasm of it. The blackish goo that surfaces and runs down Dean's calf and onto the sleeping bag seeming to be the most painful to get rid of. It's the last of the infection, the root of the evil.

Sam heaves a relieved sigh as Dean gasps huge breaths. Sapphire sits back on her haunches looking pleased with herself. Sam quickly pulls the sleeping bag out from under Dean and grabs a bottle of water and pours it over Dean's leg washing the fluids away from his skin, and making sure there was no way in hell infection was getting in the wound again.

Dean grits his teeth through the clear water pouring over his leg and the wound there, his hand still clasped in Sam's tightly. That could have gone so much worse.

...

Dean had been sleeping, and slipping deeper and deeper. After the woman's voice had washed over him a level of peace had filled him, and some of the pain had abated. He'd slipped off into oblivion once again. He still wasn't sure if it was a fever dream or not, but he was pretty sure the woman was the wolf and she had healed him. Which made sense as to why the voice had soothed him so.

He wakes in Sam's arms writhing with the pain once again. Only now it is magnified. He finds the wolf licking at his wound and he can feel the fire being pulled from his veins. And thank you God, but did it hurt? Yes, like hell. Sam takes his hands, giving him something to grab onto and Dean does. Because he's afraid he'll lose himself in the ocean of hurt and heat again.

He grits his teeth through the burning pain, promising himself because of Sam's promises that this was almost over, just a few more minutes, just a few more licks and his body would be his again. The pain would be gone. Sam would give him meds and let him sleep and then they would get off this damned mountain forever. And they weren't ever coming back not even for the other wolves, after all the alpha was saving him. That wouldn't be very good etiquette.

Then with a last lightening shot of agony it's over. He can feel it when the wolf no longer has any power over anything inside him. Knows the infection is gone. No more firebrands under his skin, no more calming effect from the wolf's presence. He gazes up to Sam with watering eyes and gives him a shaky smile.

"Am I okay, Sammy?" He asks in a hoarse voice.

He still feels a little out of it, still feels like he needs Sam to tell him before he lets go, before he lets himself be done, be exhausted.

"Yes," Sam answers, smiling, his own eyes wet. "Yes, you're okay, you're gonna be okay."

And Dean is tired, his body and brain drained from the fever, but he knows that look from Sam, the one that speaks of unspeakable fear and hope and relief. He knows all the time he can't recall while unconscious has been hell for his little brother.

Looking up at him he asks, "That bad, huh?"

Sam smiles weakly, "Nah, nothing to speak of, you pulled through."

And that was that.

...

Sam gazes down on his brother's very white face and watches as his eyes finally clear entirely. Feels the vicious heat leave his skin, Sam's got a feeling it's going to take a little bit for the shaking and shivering to subside. His brother is drained. He can tell that by the way Dean still lays against him, still depends upon Sam to handle the situation and the giant black werewolf in the cabin.

Dean looks up to him with glistening green eyes and says, "Am I okay, Sammy?" Almost like it was too good to be true, like he needs another eye witness. He needs Sam to assure him he's not just still delirious.

Sam smiles and runs fingers through his drying hair where his head is still on his lap. "Yes, you're okay, you're gonna be okay." He tries to hide the tremor in his voice, but doesn't quite succeed. Dean picks it up.

"That bad, huh?" Dean questions, eyes going soft for Sam, feeling his pain. Sam hates that, hates how Dean just nearly died, but is somehow already looking out for him again. But he loves it too.

"Nah," he says, smiling, "Nothing to speak of, you pulled through."

Like you always do. He realizes and gives his big brother a gentle smile. A smile that says, thank you for always pulling through for him. Thank you for coming ack to me.

Dean smiles back and let's his eyes float shut again. He is so tired. Like really, really tired. Like would sleep here on the cabin floor in Sam's lap for the rest of the night kind of tired. He's more than happy to let Sam to take over for once.

Sam props Dean up on the side of the fireplace and then goes back to the car for their first aide kit. He spreads some disinfectant cream over the wound and the skin around it. Then he wraps the wound for the third time. He coaxes Dean into eating some of the cheese crackers he had kept for him and drinking a bottle of water.

He shoves the pillows, sleeping bag and blanket into the fire where it crackles and sizzles. You couldn't have paid Sam to sleep on or let Dean sleep on that those again. He'd seen the stuff leaking out of Dean's leg.

With his arms around Dean's waist, and Dean's arm over his shoulder. He walks his brother out to the impala and helps him into the back seat where he shoves some of their clothes against the door as a pillow for his head. He cranks the car for her to warm up and turns the heat on all the way, hoping Dean wills top shaking soon, now that he's eaten and will hopefully be getting some rest.

He puts out the fire inside the cabin and shuts and locks the door. He goes down the steps and stops where Sapphire stands waiting. Her intense blue eyes meet his dead on. Sam nods.

"We'll keep our half of the deal. Thank you." He adds.

Sam turns and climbs into the impala, throws her in reverse and backs out from beside the cabin. He turns out onto the road leading back down the mountain, leaving the black wolf standing in the snow looking after the car in the coming daybreak.

He doesn't look back.

tbc...

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One last chapter to go!


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7.

Present Day.

Dean wakes abruptly. He jumps, scaring the shit out of himself and Sam, who about runs Baby off the road. Dean resists the the strong urge to lean over and take over the steering wheel, but lets Sam handle the impala as he catches his breath. The adrenaline fades, Sam's sends him a concerned look, Baby rumbles underneath them...all is back to normal.

The dream had been vivid. But all his memory dreams were that way. He was used to it, when you live through enough nightmares you stop dreaming and just start reliving. He's not even aware of the fact that he leans down to scratch his leg until Sam knocks his hand away again.

He sends his brother a peeved look and looks around finding their close to home. He's been asleep a long time. Which means Sam's been driving the whole time, a twelve hours...wow. Sam never drove that long, didn't really like to drive. Only drove when he needed to think or Dean couldn't.

Dean didn't particularly like the idea of Sam having all that time to get lost in his head space. Lord knew, both brother's were probably stressing out over each other when they should have been paying a little more attention to themselves. But that's how it's always been, and probably would always be.

"Why didn't you wake me up? Could've taken a turn driving." He asks, stretching and yawning monstrously.

"Nah, is okay." Sam says, "Wasn't really all that sleepy anyway." He cuts his eyes at his brother over in the passenger seat. "Weird dream?"

"Yeah," Dean answers. Rubbing his hands over his face and resisting the urge to scratch the scar. It just itches, sometimes more than others, tonight was one of those nights. Sam always hated it when he scratched it, understandably.

They had never really talked about that night. But Dean saw the haunted look that filled his little brother's eyes when it came up in conversation. Sam had looked differently on werewolves after that, and Dean did too. But then they had always found there were good variations of all supernatural creatures.

Dean didn't know what had triggered that memory. But showing the scar to Gunner and then the old wrestler saying, "But I'll be damned if I don't get back up again." Dean recognized a fellow struggling soul. Life was hard, but he and Sam always worked hard to make the best of it. When things were bad they worked hard, and when things were good they worked even harder to keep them that way.

Dean had always gotten back up. Hell, every morning when he woke up it was the thought he had, "One day at time." He and Sam knew the best of all people that you just had to keep on grinding. And that you always had to get back up. No matter how hurt you are, no matter how scared you are. No matter who you lost. You always have to get back up.

This hunt had been meant to be a vacation. It was supposed to be their break. Of course he should have known with their luck things would go south. He laughs quietly to himself. They'd just have to get back up. They just needed to keep grinding. Keep working for the greater good, for each other.

Some days that's the only thing keeping Dean going. Sam needs a world to live in. He needs somewhere to be happy, and have books, and be safe. And sometimes that's the only reason Dean can find to get back up. Sometimes the only reason to keep grinding is because he's a damn stubborn Winchester, and Winchesters don't give up. But that's a part of who he is. That makes him the man he is, and no matter how much he may want it to, that's never changing.

And as long as he's alive and breathing, as long as he is Dean Winchester, as long as Sam is by his side, he'll be damned if he doesn't get back up again.

...

Sam comes from the shower feeling refreshed, but definitely ready for a good night's sleep. In his bed. He hadn't seen Dean since his rather passionate declaration of certain victory in the map room where his brother left to presumably get a shower of his own and find refuge in his own (admittedly softer) bed. Sam sighs, and pads from his room in search of his elder sibling just to make sure he's alright.

Dean always seemed to draw the short end of the stick and he'd gotten thrown around a little on this hunt, as well as the closest to plastered Sam had seen him in years. Not to mention, Sam was a little concerned for his brother, worried about what was exactly going through that head, what feelings were exactly feeding Dean's seemingly never ending steam. He hopes Dean will just settle down and sleep for twenty four hours straight and then they can get back to the real world and their work.

Knocking at Dean's door, he waits for an answer but gets nothing but silence. He opens the door exposing an empty room with Dean's unpacked duffle on the end of his bed, which is entirely untouched. Sam bitch faces, leaving the room and is a little disgruntled by the fact that Dean is in fact doing something other than resting after their latest gig.

He yawns making his way to the kitchen which is dark and quiet so he comes into the map room from the hall. All the lights are off, but the low lighting from the library shines off the wood floor and lights Sam's way up the stairs. Most of the lights are off, but the lamps on the desks are still illuminating the room softly.

Everything has been made neat. Their mess from the last week is cleared away, a few slightly more promising files stacked on the table. Most of the books have been returned to their rightful places, a few older ones lay stacked on top of each other, spines facing out so the titles are easily read. Sam shakes his head, sometimes his brother makes him laugh, sometimes his quirky ways fills Sam's heart to the aching point.

He sighs finding his laptop off and closed on the table, charger cord snaking down to plug into the floor socket. The file and the books he'd last been looking into stacked together beside it, his pen and notebook there on the other side, ready for him.

In the morning.

Leave it to Dean to go on a cleaning spree on the one night Sam wants to take a breather. He finds said brother in one of the leather, high backed easy chairs, laptop sitting on his legs which are stretched out on one of the table chairs. He's already nursing a cup of jet black coffee, and a large dusty book is open leaning against his chest.

Sam sighs again, standing staring at him, hands unconsciously coming to his hips, while he's unaware of yet another bitch face. Dean looks up at his brother's sigh and just rolls his eyes at Sam's posture and facial expression.

Dean feels better after his shower even if he still doesn't feel too hot. He had showered and got all the travel smell and grime off him. He'd put on some faded, soft jeans and an old tee and then made a bee line for the kitchen and the coffee machine there. Brewing an entire pot, he waited straightening things up a little. The he poured himself a cup and then made his way back to the library where he straightened up too, because honestly the untidiness over the last week had been killing him.

After everything was in its place and symmetrical he grabbed his laptop and the last big, dusty book he'd been going through. He drags a table chair over so he can prop his feet up on it and then sighs as he sinks into the depths of the leather chair. Coffee in hand, he leans the book against his chest and then begins to check police reports from the last 48 hours for anything they might have missed. Leads on Amara or Lucifer.

He hears Sam padding around, knows his little brother is looking for him and he knows he won't be too happy finding out that Dean isn't going to bed. But Dean had slept off his concussion in the car and he was too restless to lay down again. His mind was too awake, would want to think through the latest hunt, Cas letting Lucifer in his body, Amara going silent. And he just couldn't, if he wanted to keep grinding, he couldn't stop to think.

Sam walks almost soundlessly up the stairs and into the library and stands frowning at him with hands on his hips. Dean feels reprimanded for some reason, he shifts a little under Sam's stare.

"What?" He asks innocently.

"Nothing," Sam says, shrugging and dropping his hands from his hips.

He pulls up the other high-backed leather chair and props his feet up beside Dean's after grabbing his laptop and the files that had been left there. He sighs and Dean gives him an appraising look. Sam looks tired, but when were they not these days? He needs to go to bed, after all Sam had driven the whole way home.

"Aren't you tired?" He asks, looking back to the laptop, reading down the reports.

Sam sighs deep again but shakes his head. "Nah, think I'm kinda past that point now, maybe this'll help me wind down." He says, motioning to his laptop of the paper work at hand.

Dean cocks his eyebrow, "I could just drug you like you did me."

Sam chuckles, "You were concussed and I saved your ass from an embarrassing 12 hour drive because you were in a talkative mood."

Dean groans, "You have enough black mail material as it is."

Sam grunts in a agreement.

"I made coffee," Dean offers, holding his cup up as proof.

"Yeah I saw, but," Sam shrugs and motions towards the kitchen, "I just sat down and the kitchen's a long ways away."

Dean huffs a laugh. "I'll go get it for you."

"Dean," Sam says as Dean moves to get up, "It's fine really, I'm sure we'll be getting sleepy here soon."

"I won't, slept all the way home."

Sam internally groans.

Dean leaves to get Sam's coffee and come back with a giant mug fixed just the way Sam likes it. Dean watches as he inhales the steam and moans over the heavenly smell. Dean smirks over his own cup.

"Who needs a little privacy now?"

Sam rolls his eyes refuting Dean, "I drove us all the way home."

"That's why you're so grumpy."

"Shut up," Sam says into his coffee mug, gulping down the hot brew. Dean makes a killer cup of coffee.

Dean snickers looking over his laptop screen, "Awwww, did Sammy miss his nappy?"

"I hate you."

"Yeah, yeah, I know you do."

Sam rolls his eyes again and sighs taking his feet off the chair. "Whatever, I'm going to bed."

"Good idea."

Sam flips Dean off, which only makes his older sibling laugh.

"Night, night, Sammy, sleep tight." Dean calls after him.

"Hope the bed bugs eat you alive." Sam mutters under his breath on his way to his bedroom.

Sam thinks about what Dean said before in the map room lying in his bed. His brother was right, alarmingly so. Sam always worked hard for whatever end he had in sight. He knew if you worked hard for something most of the time it paid off. So everyday when he got up he thought, "One day at a time, one day closer."

What it was he works towards he doesn't really know. All he knows is that Dean is there at the finish line, laugh lines a little more obvious. Worry and exhaustion and that haunted look Amara had put there gone. Maybe he works hard so they could go back to their roots; saving people, hunting things. Maybe he works so someday, somehow, he and Dean can retire...maybe he really does work to save all the innocent people.

He doesn't know if they can save the world. He doesn't know if they will survive Amara's reign. Hell, he doesn't even know if they can simply maintain this trust and honesty they've been sharing. But Sam does know, if Dean is there by his side he'll be damned if he doesn't get back up again.

the end.

Thank you so much to everyone who followed me along on this little adventure and left me reviews! I hope that it made hiatus a little easier for some of you like it did for me. :) Can't wait for Wednesday!

This is the last chapter so if you liked this story, please...pretty, pretty please...LEAVE ME A REVIEW! ;)

thank you (again3)


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